On the Side of the Angels
by Supervillegirl
Summary: He had never enjoyed being a celestial being. But what choice did he have? This was his life. There were no alternatives...until he discovered new life in London. AU. Rating may change later.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

 **I wrote this after watching** _ **City of Angels**_ **for the first time in years. Oh, and I can't wait for you the read the ending!**

 **Those that are worried about the ending, don't worry. This will not end like the movie did. And everyone** **will** **make an appearance (major characters only, except Moriarty). But give it time. I have to set up the story.**

* * *

The moon came out from behind the clouds, shining its pale light down into the streets of London. People were making their last rounds of the day before turning in for the night; taking taxi cabs home, walking down the streets on their way from dinner or a movie, gathering with friends for a late night drink. Overall, it was a regular night in the city. Nothing out of the ordinary.

 _(Please don't let them find me.)_

No one was looking down the dark alley between the two closed stores at the end of the street. No one was seeing the young man that crouched hidden behind several trash bins and a skip.

 _(Please let them give up and leave.)_

The man had his arms wrapped around his bent legs, and he was trembling from head to foot. He kept peeking out from behind the bins, glancing up at the entrance of the alley. His gaze would then slide all over the alley and towards the corner where a man all in black stood, hands in his pockets.

 _(Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please…)_

The man in black quirked his head to the side, watching the young man with interest. He was tall with dark black hair and sharp blue eyes. He wore all black with a long black scarf knotted loosely over his sternum and a long black coat. He stared at the young man crouched twenty feet from him, brows knitted together in concern. He then slowly slid his gaze up towards the mouth of the alley in expectation.

"Down here!"

 _(No!)_

The young man panicked and jumped, knocking his legs into the trash bins. They made a loud clatter as two men ran into the alley, all hooded sweatshirts and baggy pants. The young man bolted out from behind the bins and tried to make a run for it past the two hoodlums.

"Hey!"

The two thugs pounced on the young man, taking him quickly down to the pavement.

"Oh, God, no! Please!"

The two of them took turns punching and kicking the man for a moment before one of them took out a gun and fired two shots into the man's abdomen. Screams were heard from the street nearby, and the two criminals turned tail and ran.

The man in black watched them leave before he turned his gaze slowly towards the young man bleeding in the alley. He slowly stepped away from the wall and approached the man, kneeling next to him. The young man's gaze moved towards him, staring up at him in a plea for help.

 _(Oh, God, please don't let me die.)_

He was gasping in pain as blood pooled on his shirt.

 _(It hurts so much…)_

The man in black reached his hand slowly forward towards the young man.

"Oh, my God!" exclaimed a woman as she rushed into the alley.

She hurried forward and knelt next to the young man, causing the man in black to pull his hand back.

"It's okay," she told the young man. "Help is on its way. You're going to be okay."

A man ran into the alley, a phone to his ear. The woman placed her hands on the gunshot wounds, trying to stop the bleeding.

The young man stared up at the man in black, who was kneeling next to his head. "Help…"

"It's okay," the woman reassured him, tears forming in her eyes. "Help is coming. Just hold on for me."

The man hung up the phone. "The ambulance is almost here." He knelt down on the other side of the man. "What can I do?"

"Your jacket," said the woman.

The man immediately ripped his jacket off and passed it over to the woman, who pressed it down onto the young man's stomach.

"Am I…am I gonna die?" the young man asked, his voice barely above a whisper and his eyes still on the man in black next to him.

"No," said the woman, shaking her head as tears fell down his face, "no, you're not."

The man in black only tilted his head as his concerned gaze never wavered.

The ambulance soon arrived, and they loaded the young man into it as the man in black rose to his feet and followed them into the back of it. He sat next to the young man's gurney, and the young man did nothing but watch him the whole way.

"Hey, stay with us," said the paramedic.

The young man's eyes had slid closed as the heart monitor let out a long, high-pitched tone.

"He's coding!" said the paramedic.

He put the oxygen mask aside and placed his hands over the young man's heart, starting CPR. He grabbed the oxygen mask again and gave it two squeezes.

"Come on!" said the paramedic, going back to compressions.

The man in black stood at the doors of the ambulance, staring at the young man on the gurney as they tried to revive him. The young man stood next to him, staring down at his own body as the paramedic continued the compressions.

"Why?" asked the young man.

"Because that's how things are, Matthew," the man in black answered him in a deep baritone voice.

The young man, Matthew, looked at him, eyes wide. "Are you God?"

The man in black looked at him. "No. My name is William."

"Where are you taking me?" asked Matthew.

"Home," said William, turning towards him and holding out his hand.

Matthew looked down at his hand and then back up at William. He reached forward and took William's hand, and they turned towards the back doors of the ambulance, stepping through them and onto the street as the street lamp grew brighter above them.

* * *

William stood in the cold, empty room, his hands clasped behind his back and eyes closed as he reveled in the silence around him.

"Why, William?"

William opened his eyes to see a man dressed in black just as he was standing at the examination table across from him.

"Why here, William?" asked the man, looking around the morgue in disdain.

William closed his eyes once again. "It's quiet."

"We're not supposed to want the quiet," the man told him. "We hear the humans' thoughts for a reason: to help them."

William opened his eyes as he pulled his arms from behind him to hang at his sides. "All those voices, all that witless babble; it's…it's maddening."

The man looked around at their surroundings. "Why must you always gravitate towards the macabre, brother mine?"

"Because regular life is terribly predictable, Michael," William told him.

"But a morgue?" asked Michael. "We are meant to protect life…not death."

"And yet, we ferry dead souls to the other side," said William.

"To prolong that life…just not in the way you think," said Michael.

William rolled his eyes and turned away from his brother.

"William, how many times have I vouched for you?" said Michael. "Any more missteps from you, and they'll demote you."

William scoffed, turning towards the drawers behind him. "How much more can they demote me?"

"They'll keep you up there," Michael spoke in a quiet voice.

William froze and stared in alarm, his whole body tensing up.

"And you'll never get to return here," said Michael.

William finally bowed his head in defeat.

Michael's hand landed on William's shoulder in comfort. "Try to play along. You might actually enjoy it one day."

William sighed dejectedly as Michael's hand vanished from his shoulder. He turned his head to see what he had known he would find: an empty room. "Not much chance of that…brother mine."

* * *

 **Yes, William is Sherlock and Michael is Mycroft. Sherlock and Mycroft just didn't seem like angel names. And technically William is Sherlock's real name.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One

 **Ah, finally! I've been a bit busy lately. And then I realized that once I start college in two weeks that I will have barely any time to write, so I got a move on. Hopefully I can still make time now and then for this story.**

* * *

William strode along the street in the early morning, glancing over at the lightening horizon peeking out from behind London's skyline. It was coming; he could feel it. It pulled out his soul like a siren call. Of all the things being an angel allowed him, this was definitely his favorite. William came to a stop at the street corner and looked up at a tall building across the way.

With one thought, William was able to transport himself to the roof of the building. From this position, he had a clear view of the coming sunrise. He gave a slight smile as he took a breath of fresh air. "I knew you'd be waiting for me."

"Of course you did," said Michael, stepping over to him. "And must I say, it's good to see you finally accepting your fate."

"I've never missed one sunrise, Michael," William told him. "I just prefer solitude."

"Why is that, dear brother?" asked Michael. "Although I see the benefits of solitude, I would never wish to dwell in it."

"That, my brother, is where we differ," said William. "The mundane of this world infects you, dulls you. I, however, do not have that weakness. My mind is as sharp as ever."

"Our minds do not need to be sharp," Michael argued. "Only our hearts."

"Oh, dull," William muttered.

Michael shook his head good-naturedly. "How many times must we have this conversation?"

"At least once a week," William replied, his head turning unerringly towards the sunrise.

Light broke over the horizon, a hum that pierced his soul. William closed his eyes as warmth flooded him, music swelling around him. This was without a doubt his favorite part of the day. It felt like his soul was crying out to Creation, which was crying out right back. It was the closest he would ever get to feeling…anything. All too soon, it was over, and William opened his eyes to look over at Michael's still enraptured face.

"Till next time, Michael," said William, turning away and disappearing into thin air.

* * *

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade headed down the hallway of St. Bartholomew's Hospital with his Sergeant Sally Donovan in tow. "Where's he been sentenced to?"

"Belmarsh," Donovan answered, her chin held high as she walked.

Lestrade nodded. "Good luck getting out of there."

William marched along behind the two officers. Other than the morgue, the police station was another favorite haunt of his. Scotland Yard was full of interesting things to do: cases. He had shadowed every detective inspector at Scotland Yard since Jack the Ripper, when his interest in police investigations began. And boy, had he learned a lot, even more than these so-called professionals. But so far, Lestrade was the best inspector Scotland Yard had had yet.

"What about the James girl?" asked Lestrade.

"Autopsy should be done by now," said Donovan as they rounded the corner towards the morgue.

William's smile appeared as they headed through the doors of the morgue. Now, they were getting somewhere. He had already figured the whole thing out, and this autopsy would prove his theory. That was, as long as the officers were smart enough to figure it out. It would all depend on seeing the evidence. And hopefully, the new pathologist didn't mess up the whole thing.

When they entered the morgue, they found someone crouched over the examination table, tying off the last of the stitches on the Y-incision on the young woman's body.

"What have you found, Dr. Hooper?" asked Donovan.

The pathologist snipped the last thread and straightened up, turning towards them.

William stared at this small woman as she placed her instruments on the tray next to her and pulled her bloodied gloves off. He couldn't explain it, but there was something about this girl that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Well, she was definitely murdered," said Dr. Hooper.

William's head raised in appreciation. At least they were on the right track.

Dr. Hooper gestured the two officers over to the body. "The body has fingernail indentations scattered among the ligature marks, showing that she was pulling at the wire."

"Well, I'm sure anyone would pull at the wire out of instinct, no matter what their intentions," said Donovan.

William rolled his eyes at her line of reasoning.

Dr. Hooper used her pinky to point at the marks on the body's neck. "The angle of the ligature marks could only have been made by someone standing behind the victim, someone approximately five feet and eleven inches tall. They would have to have exceptional upper body strength, since the wire seems to have torn the skin upwards, showing that he was able to pull her feet from the ground to remove her leverage."

William's eyes widened at her deduction of the body. It was brilliant; she had gotten nearly everything correct.

"I found traces of concrete dust in her wounds, probably from the wire," said Dr. Hooper. "You're probably looking for a construction worker."

William's jaw dropped at the brilliance in front of him. She was perfect.

"All right, that's a start," said Donovan, heading back out of the doors.

Dr. Hooper shrugged a little, giving a timid smile. "Okay…"

Lestrade stepped forward towards the pathologist. "Thanks, Molly."

Dr. Hooper smiled warmly. "You're welcome, Greg."

William glanced between the two of them, deducing the friendship that had gone back at least a few years.

"Listen, John and I were planning a movie night tomorrow," said Lestrade. "Do you and Mary want to come?"

Molly smiled. "Oh, that sounds great! I really think she has a thing for John."

"Oh, really?" chuckled Lestrade. "That's funny, 'cause I think he likes her, too."

"Ooh, we need to get them together," giggled Molly, placing her plastic goggles on the instrument tray.

"So, eight o'clock tomorrow?" asked Lestrade.

"Sure," said Molly.

"See you later," said Lestrade, turning and heading out of the morgue.

William stood there, watching as Molly cleaned up after the autopsy. She didn't cringe or pale once while handling the body. She was obviously at ease with the morbid. She wasn't one of those people that holds it in while getting the job done and then promptly faints or vomits when they're done. He could tell that she had a gratification—a pleasure—in her work. Not only was she brilliant, but she was indomitable.

Molly slid the tray with Miss James' body on it into the drawer and closed the door. She turned and headed over to the chair set next to the examination table, sitting down and leaning her hands on the table. William stepped over to the table across from her, looking down at the autopsy table with her.

Molly suddenly gave a sigh. "Well, I'd say that was a job well done."

William glanced up to see Molly staring _right at him_.

Molly gave a little smile. "Okay, you're next."

She was staring at him! How could she—

Molly hopped off the chair and went around the table as William watched. She walked over to the table behind him, picking up the file and heading into her office.

William breathed a sigh of relief. She had been looking _through_ him, not _at_ him. But he could have sworn for a moment there…

He shook his head, dismissing it. It was impossible. There was no way for the mortals to see him unless he wanted them to. He paused, tilting his head a little in thought.

 _ **Do**_ _I want her to see me?_

* * *

 **I know. Short, but hey, who says each chapter has to be a novel?**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two

William smiled as he watched Molly work. She was an artist with her scalpel and bone saw. She had quickly become his new favorite person to tail. He had spent the rest of the day and the whole of the next one with her, enjoying the company of this new mystery. It was immensely entertaining to watch this woman work.

In the meantime, William had learned a lot about this small, reserved doctor. She had grown up in Northampton, sixty-seven miles northwest of London, with her mother, father and little sister Lillian. She had a pet dog at the age of six, which she had not gotten along with very well. So, she had developed an affinity for cats, and she had an orange tabby named Toby. Once she had graduated from Caroline Chisholm School, she attended university, finally getting her Doctor of Medicine in forensic pathology from Oxford.

While attending Oxford, she had met and made friends with a freshly graduated doctor by the name of John Watson. John was completing his house officer year before he could become a full registered practitioner, and Molly had been doing her hands-on training at St. Bart's during the time. The two of them had become quick friends—best friends—during those two years before John had gone off to war in the Royal Medical Army Corps.

Molly had worked her house officer term at a hospital near her home in Northampton before moving to London and training at St. Bart's. And she had finally managed to nail down a position as pathologist at the hospital a few weeks ago. Going by her interactions among co-workers, they enjoyed her company and respected her work.

Molly had also made a friend in Detective Inspector Lestrade through John. How the inspector and the army doctor knew each other, William had yet to figure out. Maybe he would get some clues tonight at the dinner and movie when he saw John.

 _(I'm walking on sunshine…whoa!)_

William smiled at Molly's choice of mental music as she worked on the autopsy.

 _(I'm walking on sunshine…whoa!)_

Molly tied off another stitch as she bobbed her head slightly.

 _(And don't it feel good!)_

She snipped the last of the thread and set aside her tools, setting about cleaning up as she continued to sing "I'm Walking on Sunshine" in her head. When she had finished, she pulled her gloves off and washed her hands. Grabbing the file on the lab table, she headed into her office to fill it out. William stepped into the office behind her, taking a seat opposite the desk and watching her.

 _(Cause of death: stage IV stomach cancer.)_

 _Very good_ , William thought. Then again, it wasn't a very difficult leap. The man **had** been in hospice for it. Still, Molly's findings were very important in determining that nothing else had been wrong with him.

Once again, William found himself wondering why this woman drew him so. He had seen plenty of doctors and pathologists before, so why was this one so alluring? It wasn't that she had some deep, dark past or was some criminal he needed to figure out. But there was just something about her that lay underneath, some hidden strength that surprised him. She reminded him of himself; an outward appearance that completely contradicted the real person within.

Normally, he found himself bored with humanity. But here was a person that he imagined could continue to surprise him for years.

Molly hit a few more keys on her computer keyboard before standing and moving to the door, closing it and taking her white lab coat off to hang on the back of it. She then grabbed her own tan coat hanging next to it, pulling it on and hanging her pink, striped scarf from her neck.

William stood as she grabbed her bag and hung it from her shoulder, heading out through the morgue and into the halls. She made her way out to the street, hailing a cab and heading home.

* * *

William walked next to Molly as she headed through the streets of London.

 _(Milk, biscuits, bread. Milk, biscuits, bread…)_

William glanced at a woman as she walked past, a vacant look on her face.

 _(I hope she says yes.)_

William looked over at a young man, who was nervously fiddling with something— _an engagement ring_ —in his pocket.

 _(Please let her say yes—)_

A louder voice suddenly shot through all the others, effectively silencing them.

 _(Just do it. Just go in and do it.)_

William slowed as his gaze was drawn to a man standing outside a shop. He was fidgeting back and forth on his feet, apparently trying to psych himself up for something. He was wearing a loose jacket with a hood, his hands in the pockets of it. He was eyeing the store anxiously.

 _(Just go in there and show them the gun. In and out.)_

William came to a stop, unable to ignore the man. He stepped forward towards the man as he began to take a step towards the shop. William laid a hand on the man's shoulder, closing his eyes a little before opening them again.

The man glanced over to the corner of the shop, noticing the surveillance system that had in place.

 _(What am I doing? I can't do this. I can't.)_

The man suddenly turned and hurried down the street, discreetly dumping a small revolver from his jacket's pocket into a trash bin on his way.

William watched him go before realizing that Molly was nowhere in sight. Concentrating, he suddenly found himself outside of a café on Baker Street called "Speedy's," and Molly was walking towards it. This must be where they were having their dinner before the movie. But then, Molly was walking past it and towards the door to the left of it.

Molly reached out towards the black door, which was labeled "221B" in brass lettering, and grabbed hold of the knocker, rapping it twice and letting go. A moment passed before an older woman with light red hair and wearing a purple—almost aubergine—dress answered the door.

"Oh, Molly, dear!" the elderly woman exclaimed as she pulled Molly into a little hug.

William narrowed his eyes at the woman. _Landlady, owns the building, had a bit of a rough marriage, has a bit of an impish nature._

"Everyone is upstairs," said the landlady as she ushered Molly inside and closed the door.

William transported himself into the ground floor of the building, watching as Molly hung up her coat and scarf in a small closet just inside the door.

"Am I the last?" asked Molly with a sheepish smile.

"Oh, not to worry, dear," the landlady told her with a motherly pat on the shoulder. "Dinner isn't even ready yet."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson," Molly told her as she two women headed towards the stairs directly opposite the front door.

William took a quick look around the ground floor, eyes sweeping past the stairs and towards a door made of mostly glass. There was no label on it; clearly, Mrs. Hudson's flat.

William followed the two women up the stairs, turning at the small landing halfway up. They were approaching a doorway on the first floor that led into another flat. There were a lot of voices coming from this flat and was obviously the center of tonight's activities. They headed inside, and William took a quick moment to familiarize himself with the room.

Olive green sofa along the wall to the right. Coffee table in front of the sofa. Two floor-to-ceiling windows in the wall opposite the door, long curtains framing them. Dining table against the wall in between the windows. Fireplace in the wall opposite the sofa, a mirror hung above it. Two bookshelves on either side of the fireplace. A faded red armchair in front of the fireplace, facing the windows, with a Union Jack pillow sitting in it. Hardwood floors but a large red rug lay underneath the armchair and covered most of the sitting room.

Turning towards the left side of the room, William spotted an archway with sliding glass doors that led into a kitchen. Another table was set in the middle of it, and that was where the other partygoers were gathered. Greg was setting plates on the table while a woman with short blonde hair bustled about setting dishes of food on the table and a blonde man stood at the stove, finishing up the last dish.

Despite knowing that the only other man in the room had to be Molly's friend John, William instantly recognized him from the pictures of him in Molly's flat. But now that he saw him in person, he was finally able to see the clues the pictures were not able to give him: military background and doctor—not that he didn't already know that, most likely served in Afghanistan or Iraq.

Although, one thing the pictures hadn't told him was about John's leg. The doctor had a metal cane leaning against the counter next to him, close enough to grab the moment he moved. William tilted his head in thought as John grabbed the cane and turned, limping on his right leg as he moved to set the bowl of biscuits on the table.

 _Interesting…_ William thought.

John had a pronounced limp when he walked, but when he had been standing at the stove, his weight had been centered instead of shifted to the side to allow his injured leg relief. There had also been no sign of pain or discomfort when he was standing, like he had briefly forgotten about it.

 _Hmm, psychosomatic, then._

That explained why John had decided to come home from the war; he had been wounded in action and invalided home. But his injury wasn't in his leg. Oh, no, that would have caused an actual limp. No, the injury had been elsewhere and had been traumatic enough to cause the limp.

As everyone gathered around the table to sit down, John quickly—or, as quickly as his limp would allow—stepped over and slid the blonde woman's chair out for her.

 _They were right,_ William thought. _He does fancy her._

As the woman—Mary, he gathered from their conversation—sat down, William's gaze was drawn to John's wrist, which was exposed from his sleeve as he slid her chair back to the table.

William's eyes widened. _Oh…_

Just above John's palm on the underside of his arm, there was a faint line on his skin, which stretched across his wrist. William had seen other scars similar to it, both old and faded and fresh and bleeding. John had slit his wrist.

 _Why? Why would he try to kill himself?_

Perhaps the memories of the war had become too much. Maybe John experienced chronic pain from his wound and just wanted the pain to stop. Whatever the reason, John had at one point tried to end it all. Which gave William the most likely reason John and Greg had become friends.

Greg being a police inspector, he might have been one of the officers to respond to the 999 call from whoever had found him. Greg might have then visited John in the hospital and afterwards, wanting to check in on him. It would have been easy enough for the two men to bond and become friends.

The five friends sat down and began their dinner, making conversation as they did.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Three

"And how are things going for you?"

William frowned and looked over at Michael with a suspicious look. "You don't care. What do you really want to know?"

Michael gave a sigh. "Are you behaving?"

"Is that your way of asking if I'm doing my duty?" asked William. He rolled his eyes and took a breath. "I've ferried four souls to the other side last night, another two this morning, I prevented a robbery last night and a mugging just twenty minutes ago. I was present for the sunrise this morning before spending half an hour at the library."

"And your other interests?" asked Michael.

William paused before turning towards him. "What of them?"

"Is it really healthy to indulge in these…feelings?" asked Michael.

William scoffed. "Feelings."

"Yes, William, feelings," said Michael sternly. "What did you think they were?"

"They are not feelings," said William adamantly. "It's a case."

Michael frowned at the phrasing. "A case…You've been spending too much time around that detective inspector."

"It's a new mystery to solve," said William. "It'll pass."

Michael turned away from William and looked down at the traffic passing below them on the Tower Bridge. All those people going about their lives, they had no idea what was around them, that two angels were in fact standing on the top of the walkways of Tower Bridge.

"She saw me."

Michael turned and looked at William, who was staring down at the Thames underneath them. "She couldn't have."

"Michael, she looked right at me," William told him. "I could have sworn—"

"They can't see us," Michael reminded him. "No one can see you unless you want them to."

"And if I want her to?" asked William.

"Why would you?" asked Michael, watching him closely.

William tilted his head a little in a minute shrug, his eyes darting about below him. "No reason."

"They don't need to see us," said Michael. "They haven't seen us for almost two thousand years, and they've survived. We work in the shadows. Seeing us would only confuse them."

"Not all of them," muttered William.

" _All_ of them, William," said Michael, stepping closer. "They can't handle it."

William sighed, turning away from him. "You really are a stickler for societal norms, aren't you? Even if we're not part of society."

"The way of the world, brother mine," said Michael, gazing off along the river.

* * *

"Start her on seventy-five milligrams of Oseltamivir twice daily," John told the nurse as he placed the patient's chart back onto her end bedrail. "Call me if her symptoms worsen."

"Yes, Doctor," said the nurse, whose nametag read "Jessica."

John gave his patient a smile as he placed the remote for the television into her hands. "You're going to be just fine. The antivirals should clear everything up in a few days."

"Thanks, Dr. Watson," said the young woman, starting to flip through channels.

John turned towards the door and helped himself to the hand sanitizer on the wall, leaving and heading down the hall.

"Ah, John, there you are," said Molly from the nurse's station.

"Molly," smiled John as he handed the patient's file to one of the nurses. "Finished for the morning?"

"Yep," answered Molly. "How about you?"

"Just finished my last consult," John told her. "Lunch?"

"Starving," said Molly, turning and walking towards the lifts.

"I'm paying," said John.

"No, I am," Molly insisted.

"Molly, please, let me," said John.

Molly smiled and shook her head. "You always pay."

"I am a gentleman," smiled John.

Molly laughed and glanced over towards one of the patient rooms, where someone was standing inside. She came to a stop when she saw the "No Visitors" sign next to the door.

"John," Molly said urgently, pointing to the black-clad man in the patient's room.

"Oh, great," muttered John as he moved towards the room, Molly right behind him. "I'm sorry, sir. You can't be in here."

The man stood staring down at the sleeping patient in the hospital bed for a moment. He then slowly turned around to face them.

Molly was taken aback. The man was, indeed, dressed all in black, but it wasn't his immaculate wardrobe that gave her pause. He looked right at her, and his gaze seemed to look right into her soul. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something about him…

"I'm visiting," said the man in an unbelievably deep voice.

"I'm sorry, but the sign says no visitors," said John. "You'll have to come back later."

"I meant no harm," the man told them, his expression and being completely, impossibly calm.

"You'll still have to come with us," said Molly, holding a hand out towards him. "Hospital policy."

The man glanced down at her hand and then looked back up at her. Slowly, he stepped forward and followed them out into the hallway.

"Are you Mr. Russel's family?" asked Molly.

The man simply shook his head as they headed for the lifts.

"Are you a friend?" asked John.

"I'm a visitor," said the man.

John exchanged a look with Molly before looking back at the man. "Well, Mr. Russel specifically asked for no visitors unless it's family, Mr.…"

"William," the man answered.

"Well, Mr. William, you'll have to call first before—" began John.

"Not 'Mr.,' just William," the man told him.

" **Just** William, huh?" asked Molly with a little smile. "No surname?"

William paused a moment, his eyes darting about the hall. "Scott."

Molly frowned as she glanced at the room they were passing, labeled "L. Scott." _Why is he lying about his name? Is William even his first name?_

"William, would you like to join us for lunch?" asked Molly.

John did a double-take as he frowned at Molly.

William considered for a moment before smiling a little. "I would love to."

"Right this way," said Molly, gesturing towards the lift.

William stepped up to the doors as John gave Molly a questioning look. The doors opened just as Molly shot him a "go with it" look. The three of them stepped into the lift, and the doors closed.

"So…you don't know Mr. Russel?" asked John.

"I do," said William.

"So, you **are** his friend," stated John.

"No," said William.

John rolled his eyes and dropped his head in frustration.

"Do you visit patients often?" asked Molly.

William looked over at her, nodding.

"Well, from now on, please pay attention to the signs hung at their door," said Molly. "We don't have anything against people voluntarily visiting patients in the hospital, but you have to follow visitor guidelines when doing so."

William smiled at her. "I shall endeavor to do so."

Molly smiled back at him. "Good…"

The way William was looking at her…as if he had known her for years…

* * *

William watched the two doctors delve into their meals.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?" asked Molly.

William stared at the food on their plates in fascination. "Not hungry."

"You sure?" said John. "I'm paying."

Molly rolled her eyes. "I swear, as long as John is around, no one will ever go broke."

"I'm hospitable," John defended himself. "What's wrong with that?"

"Where do you get the money?" demanded Molly. "You offer to pay all the time. Don't you believe in a savings account?"

"Just because I know how to manage my money…" said John, glancing down at his meal and avoiding Molly's eyes.

The action caught William's attention, drawing his gaze over to the army doctor. He hadn't given John any real attention since he had shown himself to them; his interest had been solely on Molly. But now, the mystery that is John piqued his interest. The good doctor was lying.

It didn't make any sense. Why would he lie about his income? Well, no, it wasn't so much a lie as just avoiding the truth. What did he have to be nervous about?

But that revelation wasn't what caused William's mouth to open in surprise. It was the sudden knowledge that he knew John. He _remembered_ him.

 _William took a deep breath as the sun broke over the horizon, reveling in the peace he felt. As the music ended, another sound met his ears: thrashing in the bushes._

" _Got you! Hands up!"_

 _William followed the sound of branches breaking until he came to a small clearing. A boy of six years old was jumping from the bushes, brandishing a short stick at it._

" _Come out with your hands up!" shouted the young blonde boy._

 _A small hedgehog scrambled out from the bush and made his way along the grass._

" _Freeze!" shouted the boy, shaking the stick at the animal._

 _William smiled at the boy, chuckling a little._

 _The boy spun around and aimed the stick at him. "Who are you?"_

 _William raised his hands in supplication. "Relax. I'm a friend."_

 _The boy frowned. "I don't know you."_

" _Didn't say I was yours," William told him. "My name is William."_

 _The boy hesitated a moment, giving him a few once-overs before lowering the stick. "I'm John."_

That had been the first of many encounters during the week John's family had vacationed in Epping Forest when he was a boy. William had enjoyed the boy's company, finding him more exciting than the rest of dull humanity. John had told him of his ambition to become a crime fighter, like his police officer of a father. Apparently, that ambition had landed him in the army instead.

John frowned at William. "You okay?"

William blinked, realizing that he had been staring. "Yes. Just thinking."

John watched him for a moment before nodding and going back to his meal.

William surreptitiously watched John the rest of the meal until he and Molly had to return to work. He hadn't really noticed it before, but now that he was paying attention to John, he wondered how he could have missed it? Something about John had nagged at him since he first saw him at Baker Street, but he was too focused on Molly to dwell on it. Remarkable that they should find each again after all these years.

* * *

 **Ooh, bet you didn't see that coming!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four

 **All right, back to college tomorrow! I hope I have time to write.**

* * *

William had spent the rest of lunch with them and then took his leave when they went back to work. And no matter how much he tried, Molly just would not leave his mind. He had thought meeting her would end this obsession; he could finally put it behind him. But all it did was make it worse.

Now, he knew what it felt like to see her smile at him, hear her laugh when he made deductions about the people around them, feel her touch as she brushed her hand against his. Well, that wasn't quite true. He was an angel; he didn't **feel** anything. But the hum of the numbness at her touch had to be just as good as the real thing.

And it was _intoxicating._

Then there was the mystery of John Watson. It couldn't be a coincidence. The fact that the best friend of the woman he was infatuated with (because it was obvious he felt for her; maybe not as much as Michael insinuated, but it was definitely _something_ ) was the same little boy he had befriended thirty years ago couldn't be ignored. But what did it mean?

And that's what had brought him here.

If the morgue and lab were his home, then the library would be his home away from home. For the other angel, it was their favorite place to congregate, but not for William; that was the morgue. And then there were days like this. When he wanted to understand human things like sentiment, this was the place to go.

And he had fully intended on getting to the bottom of these feelings he was experiencing. He had headed towards the self-help section and everything.

Until he passed someone reading a mystery story.

William had instantly become enthralled, figuring it out as soon as the clues where laid out in front of him. But he had listened on as the library patron read through to the end, wanting to know if he had been right.

 _(_ "'…a _little clearer both to the general public and to Lord St. Simon in particular. I invited them to meet here, and, as you see, I made him keep the appointment.'_

' _But with no very good result,' I remarked. 'His conduct was certainly not very gracious.'_

' _Ah, Watson,' said Holmes, smiling, 'perhaps you would not be very gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. I think that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully and thank our stars that we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.'")_

The young man's thoughts came to an end as he closed the book in front of him and stood to leave. William watched him go for a moment before glancing down at the cover of the book: _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. William was impressed; whoever this Doyle was, he was clearly more intelligent than the average Briton. A passing fancy to meet this author flitted through his mind before he realized that he had gotten side-tracked.

William turned from the table and made his way towards the self-help area.

* * *

Nothing. Not a single thing had helped. William had lurked around the library all day and all night, but no one had been reading anything remotely helpful. And unless he wanted to become visible to read them himself (not bloody likely), he was on his own.

Or maybe not.

William appeared in 221B Baker Street, turning on the spot to find John. It was clear he was never going to solve this around Molly; she was the cause of all of this. For some reason, he figured John was the one to go to for advice…even if he couldn't see him.

John was limping around the kitchen in pajama pants and a worn t-shirt as he made himself some tea, having clearly just woken up. William moved over to join him, now faced with a new dilemma. How was John supposed to help him if he couldn't see him? Should he show himself to John? That would probably be a bit not good. The doctor might even faint in shock. Best to be subtle.

William instantly moved down to the street outside, glancing around to make sure no one was around before letting his natural cloak fall. He then raised his hand and lightly banged the knocker against the door. He waited a moment before the door was unlatched and opened.

Mrs. Hudson smiled at him as she stood in the doorway. "Oh, hello, dear!"

Drawing on the human encounters he'd seen over the years, William smiled at her. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson. Is John in?"

"Oh, yes!" she said, opening the door further. "Are you his friend?"

"From the hospital, yes," William replied, stepping into the foyer. "William Scott."

"So nice to meet you," said Mrs. Hudson. "Would you like some tea?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine," said William, smiling at her before heading for the stairs.

He made it to the first floor landing and knocked on the doorframe of the kitchen.

John turned and looked surprised. "William, hi." He then frowned. "How, um…how did you know where I lived?"

"Molly told me," said William. "Well, mentioned in passing. I thought, um…I thought you could help me."

John nodded once, pouring two cups of tea and setting them on the table. "With what?" He sat at the table, gesturing to the chair opposite.

William slowly made his way to the chair, sitting there and staring at the tea in front of him. "I find myself…confused. I don't know how to deal with, um…sentiment."

John frowned. "Sentiment?"

William hesitated, grimacing in distaste. "Feelings."

"What kind of feelings?"

"Well, that's just the thing, I don't know," said William. "I don't have much experience with emotions."

John stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. "Well, why don't you tell me about them?"

William sighed, placing his hands in front of his mouth in a prayer position. Again, that odd look from John.

William lowered his hands. "I can't get her out of my head."

"Who?" asked John.

"Molly," said William.

John stared at him. "Molly…"

"She was a mystery to me," William told him. "She was more interesting than anyone else. No one has been able to hold my attention like that before. But the more I'm around her, the more she gets into my head. She's all I can think about."

A knowing smile appeared on John's face. "And have you told her?"

William frowned. "Told her what?"

"That you fancy her," said John.

William scoffed. "I do not fancy her."

"Trust me, mate, you do," John told him with a smile.

William sighed. "You don't understand, John. I am literally incapable of emotions."

John gave a laugh. "What are you, a sociopath?"

William shrugged and gave him a look. _Or something._

John waved a hand. "Okay, then there's something you should know." He gave a heavy sigh. "Molly's moving."

William's eyes widened. "What?"

"She's leaving London," John told him. "I just found out last night."

"She can't!" William exclaimed, feeling panic rise up inside him. "She loves London! And what about Bart's? She just got her job there, and—" He came to a stop and narrowed his eyes at John, who was smiling smugly at him. "She's not leaving London, is she?"

"Nope," John told him. "But what did you feel when you thought she was?"

William frowned, not understanding what he was getting at. "Panic."

"And isn't panic an emotion?" John pointed out.

William froze, his mind completely shocked at the implications. Was it true? Was he actually capable of feeling?

"Looks like you're not as much of a sociopath as you thought," John told him.

 _Or a cold-hearted angel,_ William thought.

"John, you here?"

John and William glanced up at the kitchen doorway to see Greg Lestrade stepping through it.

Greg came to a stop when he saw William. "Oh, I didn't know you had company."

"It's all right," said John, gesturing to William. "Greg, this is William Scott. He's a, um…well, I don't know what he does, exactly. He volunteers to visit patients at the hospital."

"I'm a messenger," William told them.

Greg narrowed his eyes at him. "A messenger, huh?"

William frowned at him.

Greg blinked and extended his hand. "Greg Lestrade, Detective Inspector at New Scotland Yard."

William shook his hand. "Pleasure."

"Yeah…" Greg stared at him a moment before releasing his hand. "John, I was wondering if you could come down to identify the shooter you saw."

"Oh, yeah, sure," said John, standing and heading upstairs. "Give me ten minutes."

"Take your time," Greg told him, watching him go. He stared up the stairs until he heard John's door close, and then he turned back to William. "So, where'd you get the last name from?"

William frowned as he looked up at him. "I'm sorry?"

"The last name: Scott," said Greg. "Where'd you get it?"

William blinked, startled by the question. "It's my name—"

"No, it isn't, because you don't have a last name," said Greg confidently.

William's eyes widened. _How did he know? How had he figured it out?_

"You also don't have a job, although your description of 'messenger' isn't far off," Greg went on.

William's jaw began to drop in shock as the inspector went on.

"You spend your free time in the library, you gather to listen to the sunrise, you travel at the speed of thought—"

 _(—and you're reading my mind right now.)_

Greg gave a smug smirk. "Did I get anything wrong?"

William stared for a moment, his throat working, before he spoke. "I spend my free time in the morgue. The library is only useful when I need information."

Greg nodded. "Hmm. You're one of the odd ones, aren't you?"

"How?" asked William.

"Because I was where you are once," Greg told him.

William frowned in confusion.

"I used to be one of you," said Greg.

* * *

 **Oh, snap! I went there.**

 **The story excerpt is from "The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five

 **Whew! Easy classes, so plenty of time to write! But don't know how often the chapters will come.**

* * *

William stared at the inspector in shock. What Greg had just said flew in the face of everything he knew. But then, how had he known all of that? There was no way he could, unless…No! It was impossible. Humans cannot be angels, so why would angels be able to be human?

William narrowed his eyes at the man. "That's impossible."

Greg shrugged. "Is it really?"

"How?" asked William.

"He gave _them_ free will. Why not us?"

Now, William frowned in confusion. "You…you chose to…" It simply boggled his mind. Why would he have wanted to become one of these lesser beings? "Why?"

"My wife," Greg answered. "Our two girls." His gaze tracked off to the side as a fond smile appeared. "I wanted a family."

William's head had slowly begun moving back and forth in lingering confusion. "How did you…"

"I fell," Greg replied.

William's frown deepened.

Greg shrugged. "Pick anything you like: a tall building, a bridge," he paused and chuckled, "the London Eye…"

The corner of William's mouth quirked upwards in amusement.

"And you just…fall," Greg explained.

William's eyes fell to the floor, stunned beyond belief. "How long has it been?"

"Fifteen years," Greg told him.

Not a long time from William's perspective, but in human terms, it was practically a fifth of their lifetime. Oh, to leave these endless, boring years behind him. To be able to perform the experiments he had thought up over the millennia, to be able to feel the rush of the chase, to touch…to feel…

But was it really worth it? Now, he got to solve cases. He was allowed unrestricted access to crime scenes and investigations. As a human, they would never let him anywhere near police matters. Sure, they had hired Greg, but William didn't have anywhere near the temperament for a job like that. No. It was better things stayed as they were.

But…

"Does anyone know?" William asked, glancing up sheepishly and almost nervous about the answer.

"I've come close to telling a few times—my wife, John—but…" Greg trailed off, shrugging. "It's too big for them. They wouldn't be able to handle it."

William sighed, realizing the truth of that; Michael had told him as much. "What does—"

Footsteps pounding down the stairs in the hallway signaled John's return, and William abruptly stood from the table.

"All right, Greg, let's go," said John, stepping into the kitchen doorway. He smiled apologetically at the angel. "Sorry to dash, William."

"It's all right," William shrugged off as John led them out towards the stairs. "So…identifying a shooter?"

"Yeah, I was coming home after a late shift the other night, and I, uh, witnessed a murder," John told him as he headed down the stairs.

William smirked behind him. "Take shortcuts down dark alleys much, do you?"

William could practically hear John's smile. "No. I heard the sound of a scuffle, so I followed it." He reached the ground floor and headed for the front door.

William stepped foot on the ground floor and stopped in stunned surprise. "You followed it? And then witnessed a murder."

John turned back to him as he grabbed his coat from the cubby just inside the door, giving him a mischievous smirk. "And then chased the murderer down."

William's brows rose in disbelief (fake disbelief; he knew John didn't actually have a bum leg, he only needed to get John to see that). "Really!" He nodded at John's cane. "With that leg?"

John glanced down at his leg as he grabbed the cane from where he had leant it against the wall. "Yeah, I know. The adrenaline kicked in, and I didn't really notice it. But, boy, it made up for it later."

"Hmm," nodded William, pleased with the answer. This would be easier than he had thought.

"Oi," said Greg behind him.

William quickly stepped aside, letting the inspector off the stairs. He followed the two of them out onto Baker Street, glancing nervously at the doctor as he locked the front door. John turned around and headed for the police car at the curb. As he opened the passenger door to climb in, William finally spoke up.

"Is it all right if I come along?" asked William.

John stopped and looked back at him.

"I'm a bit of a…mystery enthusiast," William told him with a smile. "I find detective work fascinating."

Again, there was that odd look on John's face. What was that look? It was almost as though John was trying to remember where he knew him from. Could it be possible that some part of John remembered their adventures from his childhood?

William remembered himself just in time. "If it's all right with you, Inspector Lestrade."

Greg gave him a smile and another shrug. "Yeah. Why not?"

William gave a rare smile before climbing into the backseat of the car. Greg headed to the driver's door and hopped in, pulling away from 221.

"So, you like detective stories?" John asked, turning his head to look at William.

"Oh, yes." William nodded once. "My favorite section at the library." He glanced at Greg to see the inspector giving him a secret smile.

"How'd you get into that?" asked John.

"Jack the Ripper," William told him.

"Really?" asked John, brows raising.

"Five known killings—there were actually nine—and he still managed to elude the police," William began rattling off. "Even the victims themselves didn't have a clue as to his identity. He was without a doubt the most intelligent criminal I've ever met."

"Met?" asked John with a frown.

William hesitated only a moment. "Well, wanted to meet." He glanced up at the rearview mirror to see Greg giving him a look.

 _Watch it,_ it said.

William wanted to roll his eyes at Greg, had John not been looking at him right then. There was no way for John to figure out the truth unless William **told** him flat out.

"You know, I'm something of a mystery enthusiast myself," said John.

"You are?" asked William, sitting forward in interest.

"Yeah," said John, shifting a little more towards William. "It's incredible what you can draw from the tiniest of details."

"Details are, by far, the most important," William pointed out.

"Apparently," said John. "I've kind of studied the science of deduction."

"You have?" asked William in surprise.

"Yeah," said John. "Now, I'm no expert. I could never actually make it as a detective, but…" he shrugged with a smile, "I know a thing or two."

William watched him for a moment, sensing that there was something more to his statement. There was something John wasn't telling them, probably the same secret William had observed that John had before.

"Impressive," said William.

* * *

Greg led John and William into Scotland Yard, heading through the hallways towards the viewing rooms.

"Just need you to make a positive ID," Greg told John as they stepped into the room.

John followed, glancing through the one-way mirror at the man sitting handcuffed in the interrogation room. He paused a moment before nodding. "That's him."

Greg nodded. "All right." He began turning towards the door to head out.

William narrowed his eyes at the murderer on the other side of the glass, taking in the shoes the man was wearing. "He's not alone."

Greg came to a stop as he and John both looked over at him.

"Sorry?" asked Greg.

"He's not working alone," William told them. "He has an accomplice."

"How can you tell?" Greg asked, turning towards him.

"His shoes," William answered. At their blank looks, he elaborated. "The photos of the crime scene showed footprints that were deeper on the outside than the inside, suggesting the owner had genu varum, or 'bow legs.'" He nodded at the man in the interrogation room. "Mr. Crane, however, does not."

"You haven't even seen him out of that chair," Greg pointed out.

"The soles of his shoes show even wear," William told him. "If he was bow-legged, the outsides of his shoes would be more worn than the insides. Conclusion: someone else was there."

"Could it have been footprints from earlier?" asked John.

"Unlikely," William answered. "The victim's missing earring was pressed into the mud, which means that the footprint was made after the victim had been down that alley."

John stared at him with a faint smile. "Fantastic."

William shrugged. "Elementary."

John frowned and looked away, eyes darting back and forth in thought.

Greg stepped up closer to William, lowering his voice so John wouldn't hear. "You've been following me around, haven't you?"

"Don't think yourself special, Greg," William whispered back. "I've been following detectives for over a hundred years."

Greg looked back at the criminal in the other room. "That wasn't a 'no.'"

William smirked. "No, it wasn't."

* * *

"Down!"

John ducked as William did the same, listening to the ricochet of the bullet above their heads.

On a suggestion of William's, he and John had gone to the crime scene to see if they could hunt down the other guy. Fortunately (in William's opinion, anyway), they had found the clue that had led them here.

William grabbed hold of John's shoulder, yanking him up from the ground. "This way!"

John hurried off after him as the shooter gave chase. William led John around the corner of the building, smiling slightly in victory at the sound of John's footfalls behind him.

 _Cane and limp abandoned, check,_ he thought. _Now, if only I could feel the thrill of the chase—_

"John!" William shouted, ducking into a corner to his left.

John slammed to a stop against the wall next to him.

"Do you have your gun?" asked William.

John frowned at him. "How do you know—"

"You're a soldier, John!" hissed William. "Obvious!"

"No, it's in the safe at my flat," John told him.

William glanced around at their feet as the sounds of running footsteps sounded in the alley. He spotted an old metal pipe against the wall. "John."

"What?"

"Pipe."

"Got it," said John, picking the pipe up and holding it up next to his head at the ready.

The footsteps neared and, just as they reached the alley, John swung the pipe down and hit the shooter's gun arm, knocking the gun from his grasp as he doubled over and grabbed at his broken arm. William immediately darted forward, grabbing up the gun as soon as it had hit the ground. He tossed it to John as John dropped the pipe and caught the gun, aiming it at the guy.

"Don't move," John told the criminal, his gaze hard as he kept the man in his sights.

"Can I borrow your phone?" William asked.

"Coat pocket," John answered shortly.

William dug in the outside right pocket of John's coat, pulling the phone out and dialing Greg.

After the police had apprehended the shooter, William and John headed away from the crime scene, strolling along the pavement.

"So, where's your phone?" asked John.

"Not on me," William answered curtly.

John chuckled. "Are you always like this?"

"Like what?" asked William.

"You know, an amazing detective with a love of working outside the law and a penchant for sarcasm," said John.

"For as long as I can remember," said William with a shrug.

John smirked. "Hmm."

"What?"

"Well, it's just that you remind me of a certain detective," said John.

"I do? Which one?"

"You ever hear of Sherlock Holmes?" asked John.

"In fact, I have," William answered. "Just recently." He frowned. "Which is ironic, considering his best friend in the stories is Dr. John Watson."

John's smile faltered as he shrugged. "Well, it is a pretty common name. But, yeah, ironic." He gave a chuckle.

William narrowed his eyes at him, recognizing that something was off but not sure what.

"So, you thought about what we talked about?" asked John, changing the subject.

"What about?" asked William.

"Molly," said John.

William nervously shifted, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. "I have."

"And?" asked John, peering closely at him.

"And I have no assurances that she feels the same way," William replied.

"Well, why don't you ask her out?" suggested John. "That'd be a great way to find out."

"For the same reason you haven't asked Mary out," William replied.

John stared at him, his jaw slack. After a moment, he nodded. "Fair enough."

William glanced sideways at John after a while and grinned. "By the way…"

John looked over at him.

"I think you left your cane at the murderer's house," William told him.

John came to a stop as William continued on, glancing down at his empty hands. He looked back up at William, who glanced back at him, with a shocked expression before smiling and then laughing, hurrying to catch up.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Six

William stood in the morgue, enjoying the silence. He had just gotten through with a bus accident, and the flurry of dying souls had been about all that he could bear. There had been twenty-one victims in the end, which was twice his usual daily quota. The meet and greet, the constant questions; it was all he could do to not pull at his hair in frustration. He needed a break, somewhere where he wouldn't run into a single lying (or dying) person.

 _('Cause I just can't wait till you write me you're coming around.)_

Despite the interruption of his beloved silence, William couldn't help but smile. How was it that something that would normally send him over the edge with anyone else would be something endearing when done by Molly Hooper?

 _(Now, I'm walking on sunshine…whoa!)_

He turned as Molly entered the morgue, still singing that song in her head. It seemed to be the song she always thought of at work. Perhaps it was her favorite song. Perhaps it was the song she used to keep her mind off of her morbid job. In this instance, he had no real way or knowing the truth, but he was leaning more towards the former. She just didn't seem like she was bothered enough by her job that it was necessary to take her mind off of it.

 _(And don't it feel good!)_

Molly moved over to one of the drawers and pulled it open, sliding the cadaver out. After much maneuvering and calling an assistant for help, the corpse was stationed on one of the autopsy tables. Molly moved over to the table, getting her instruments clean and ready.

 _(Such a nice name,)_ Molly thought absently. _(So strong…William…)_

William's head snapped up to her, his eyes widening.

 _(And those eyes…)_

William allowed a smile to appear on his face, surprised to feel relief at the discovery of Molly's infatuation. Apparently, he had been worried that Molly would never feel the same way as he. That implied that he had been wanting something to happen between the two of them. Perhaps this was more than a simple attraction; perhaps his feelings ran deeper.

 _(I wonder if he ever thinks about me.)_

William circled around the autopsy table, approaching the table where Molly stood and stepping up behind her. He leaned his head forward next to hers, peering over her shoulder to watch her work. He loved watching her work.

 _(Oh, don't be silly, Molly. He probably hasn't given you a second thought.)_

William jerked his head to the side, staring at her in shock.

 _(You're just a shy little pathologist, nothing special. Why would he be interested in that?)_

William frowned at that thought. Is that what she thought of herself? It was absolutely not true. Did she honestly not see how special she was?

Molly shook her head slightly. _(Quit fantasizing about something that will never happen. Get back to work.)_ She turned and took her tray of utensils over to the autopsy table.

William stared at her, stunned at how insecure she was. Well, he was going to put a stop to it right now. He turned, relocating himself to just outside the doors of the morgue. He pushed open the door and strolled in quickly, acting as though this was where he had meant to end up.

"Oh, Molly," he said.

Molly jumped in surprise, turning quickly around towards him. "William!"

"I didn't realize you were working today," William told her. "I was looking for your employer."

"W—erm…Is there anything I can help you with?" asked Molly, stepping forward.

William pretended to consider the question for a moment. "Actually, since you're here, I was wondering if I might view an autopsy."

Molly's brows rose. "Oh." She then grimaced and looked away. "Well…I'm really not supposed to—"

"Would it help if I promised not to touch?" William asked with a smirk.

Molly blushed furiously, glancing down at her feet. _(Why does he have to have such a great smile?_ _ **Why?**_ _)_

William stifled an amused smile. "I am actually a…" _Oh, think! What was it called?_ "…graduate chemist. I simply want to observe."

 _(Oh, go on, Molly! Take a leap!)_

"Okay," said Molly, giving him a smile.

William gave one back as he grabbed a stool and walked over to place it across the table from Molly. He took a seat and gestured to the corpse. "Please, do go on." He folded his arms across his chest to watch.

Molly gave a sheepish smile and stepped forward to begin the autopsy.

* * *

"I can't believe the medical examiner ruled that death as accidental," complained William.

"Anyone could see that he was poisoned," Molly agreed as the two of them walked down the street after Molly's shift.

They had ended up talking all day long, even after all the autopsies and lab work Molly had scheduled. William had started out just wanting to boost her self-esteem, but had ended up actually enjoying himself. He hadn't had this much fun since…ever.

"Exactly," said William. "They're all idiots."

Molly giggled, and William glanced over at her, smiling.

"It's true," said William. "People see, but they don't observe."

Molly shook her head a little, chuckling.

William spotted that look in her eyes, the same look that John got so often around him. "What is it?"

"Well, it's just…" began Molly. "You kind of remind me of someone."

William narrowed his eyes, flashing back to the conversation he'd had with John. "It's not Sherlock Holmes, is it?"

Molly looked up at him with a smile. "Yes, how'd you know?"

"Apparently, you're not the only one," he told her. "But can I ask you something?"

Molly gave a shrug. "Sure."

"What is it about me that reminds people of him? What do Sherlock Holmes and I have in common?"

Molly nodded, thinking it over. "Well…you're both incredibly intelligent…very observant…" She glanced nervously over at him before surging on. "And no offense, because it kind of actually suits you, but you're both kind of…" she winced, "arrogant."

William huffed out an amused chuckle. "Arrogant?"

"Well, it's just that you view yourself as superior to everyone else because of your intelligence, and it comes off as arrogant," Molly quickly explained. "The same goes for Sherlock."

William nodded. "What else?"

Molly frowned. "Hmm?"

"There's something else," William pointed out. "What is it?"

Molly smiled and shook her head. "You really are a regular Sherlock Holmes." She took a breath, raising her shoulders and then dropping them again. "The Sherlock Holmes stories are my favorites. And the way I always pictured him in my head, he…well, he kind of looked a lot like you."

William smirked. "Really?"

Molly blushed, ducking her head to avoid his gaze. "No, come on, really. The way Doyle described the character is very similar to your own features." She frowned in thought. "If I can remember correctly…tall; excessively lean; sharp, piercing eyes; prominent features; very delicate movements, as though he possessed some preternatural grace—" She immediately caught herself, her blush renewing as she looked away.

William looked away, watching the walkway in front of them as they continued on. "You admire him."

Molly paused for a moment. "Yeah, I do." She hesitated, glancing at him and then away. "I admire you, too." Her voice had been barely above a whisper, but he had heard it all the same.

"Good."

Molly's head whipped over to him, a frown on her face. "Good?"

"Yes," William told her. "I'd hate for my admiration to be unrequited." He turned his head to smile down at her.

Molly's eyes brightened as her smile widened, and they continued on down the London streets in companionable conversation.

* * *

"What is this?" Molly exclaimed, staring with wide eyes as John walked towards her in the hospital cafeteria…without a cane.

John smiled as he glanced down at his limp-free leg, setting his tray of food down on the table across from her. "I know. Incredible, isn't it?"

William smiled from his invisible seat next to them.

"I thought your leg got hurt in the war," said Molly, a frown on her face.

John sat down across from her. "Well, not really. After I got shot in the shoulder—"

 _Ah, shoulder!_ William thought. _I knew it._

"—it just started hurting," John went on. "I thought that maybe it **had** gotten hurt somehow, but turns out, it was just psychosomatic. I should've listened to my therapist."

"So, how did this happen?" asked Molly, her meal forgotten for now.

"Actually, you have William to thank for that."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." John shifted in his seat, preparing to tell the story. "So, he figures out who the murderer is, we head to his place, and the guy runs off, so we go chasing after him. It wasn't until the police arrested him twenty minutes later that William pointed out I had forgotten my cane in the chase."

"Huh…" said Molly, thinking for a moment. "So, you two went off to catch a murderer to solve a case…a lot like Sherlock Holmes—"

"—and Dr. Watson," John said at the same time, shaking his head. "Glad I'm not the only one."

"The only one?"

"That thinks William reminds them of Sherlock Holmes," said John.

"I know," agreed Molly. "There's just something about him." She looked down at her meal, starting to pick at it.

John watched her for a moment before moving is gaze down to the table, his eyes shifting back and forth in indecision.

William leaned forward in his seat towards him. _Oh, don't do it, John. Don't do it._

John looked up at Molly. "So, I was wondering…"

William winced. _Damn!_

"Have you spoken to William lately?" asked John.

Molly looked up at him. "We spent most of yesterday together. Why?"

John's brows rose in surprise. "Did he talk to you?"

Molly frowned. "About what?"

"I don't know. Anything specific."

"Well…" Molly thought for a moment, "he has a brother, Michael. And they really don't get along."

John gave a little smile before shaking his head. "Well, sounds like you two had fun."

Molly smiled, getting a far-off look in her eyes. "Yeah…"

John's smile grew as he went back to his meal. As Molly shook herself and tuned into her own meal, William breathed a sigh of relief. John seemed content to leave the subject at that, stopping short of telling Molly about his love for her.

William froze, his mind jolting to a halt at that thought. Love? Had he really just said love? Since when had this turned into love?

 _Since yesterday._

It was true; William and Molly had grown closer yesterday. He had gotten to see the side of her he never saw when he watched over her. And she was…

"Perfect," William whispered, smiling as he reached his hand out to caress Molly's cheek.

Molly paused, glancing towards the seat in which he sat. "Did you feel that?"

John looked up at her. "Feel what?"

Molly stared at the empty seat for a moment before shaking her head. "Never mind."

William slowly lowered his hand, his heart plummeting to his feet. It didn't matter if he loved her or not. He was an angel; she was a human. It could never happen. William looked up at Molly sadly.

 **They** could never happen.

* * *

I promise just a little more angst before things start REALLY moving.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Seven

The very next day, John, Molly, Greg and William had planned to meet for dinner and "socializing." Of course, William had made the excuse that his stomach wasn't feeling well so he would skip dinner. It was yet another excuse—oh, who was he kidding? It was a **lie** —to add to the many others.

And it was another reason why this couldn't go on. These relationships couldn't go on. His brother had once told him that connections were a liability, and he was right. What was the benefit of a friendship if he had to lie? What was the point of a relationship if he couldn't **feel** it?

"William."

"Hmm?" William grunted out as he looked up at the other three.

Molly was watching him with concern. "Are you all right? Is your stomach—"

"Oh, no, I'm fine," William told them. "Just…thinking."

"Get lost in there, did you?" asked Greg, laughing a little.

William smiled good-naturedly. "Never. My mind palace is **always** perfectly organized."

"Mind palace?" asked John, half-confused and half-amused.

William nodded. "It's a memory technique. Imagine a place—your favorite haunt, your childhood home or a completely made-up structure—and deposit memories and facts there. You don't need to remember it all; you just need to find your way back to it."

"Wow…" said John. "So, that's why you're good at detective work? You just…know things?"

"Yep," William answered, popping the p at the end.

"Incredible," said Molly, staring at him.

William gave her a warm smile back, and the two of them stared at each other for a moment.

"So…" said John suddenly.

William broke his stare and looked at him.

"Tell us more about yourself," John prodded. "I feel like all I know about you is your job. Molly says you have a brother."

William nodded. "I do."

"And what does he do?" asked John.

William momentarily glanced at Greg—who shared an uneasy look with him—before looking back at everyone else and trying to think of something plausible.

"Can you not tell us about it, or something?" asked Molly after no reply had come for a while.

Not really knowing why he decided to, William jumped on that explanation. "No, I can't."

John frowned, smiling. "What, is he a spy?"

"Not exactly," William answered. _In truth, we're all a lot like spies._ He thought quickly before landing on an answer. "He works for the government."

"Really?" asked Molly. "Doing what?"

William gave a non-committal shrug. "Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you."

"Right," said Molly with a smile.

"Where did you two grow up?" asked John.

"Oh, here and there," William answered, wanting to keep to the truth as much as possible.

"Tight-lipped, are we?" asked John with a smile. He gave a nod. "All right, then. What exactly do you do as a messenger?"

"Well…" began William with a quick glance at Greg, who appeared to be trying to hide in his seat as the conversation turned to this more personal topic, "I deliver incoming parcels to my employer, I give out messages to the public, and in a lesser capacity, I watch over the company."

"So, you're like a PR man," suggested Molly.

"Basically," replied William.

"And in your spare time, you dabble in detective work," said John.

"Unofficially, yes."

"Unofficially," said John. "So, you're like a private detective?"

"No, no, nothing like that," William brushed off.

John rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're a consulting detective, because this is getting a bit ridiculous."

"I'm sorry?" asked William, a frown on his face.

"That's what Sherlock Holmes considers himself: a consulting detective," Molly explained.

"Hmm," muttered William. _I really need to read those stories._ "An apt description, but I don't actually solve any cases. Well, I do solve them on my own, but I don't go out and do anything about it." He nodded at John. "The other night was my first actual case."

"Really?" asked Molly. "As good of a detective as you are, and you don't do it professionally?"

William gave a shrug, trying to hide his disappointment. "I already have a job."

"Doesn't mean you can't change your career," Greg finally spoke up.

William looked over at him, understanding what he was suggesting.

Greg leaned forward as the other two watched him. "If you're good at something and you really enjoy doing it, why should you let something like a stable job stop you?"

William watched him for a moment, surprisingly lost as to an argument against that. "Well…it's…complicated."

Greg nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. "Look at it this way: if you suddenly found yourself without that job, would you really miss it all that much?"

That line of reasoning sent William's thoughts crashing to a halt. If he was suddenly human tomorrow, what would he miss about being an angel? The only two things he actually enjoyed were the sunrise and the library. If he were human, could he replace those things? Yes; he would be able to read books himself and listen to music. It wouldn't quite be the same, but all the wonders of humanity that could make up for it? There was no contest.

William's eyes tracked back up to Greg, who shared the same smile with him.

"So, you're gonna be a detective now?" asked John.

William gave a shrug, spreading his hands out in front of him. "Looks like." He brought his hands back together.

"I, uh…" began John, looking a little awkward, "I don't suppose I could…tag along, by any chance."

William gave him a short smile. "Of course. I'd be lost without my doctor."

John smiled as they got lost in another conversation, William with a lighter heart than he'd had in a long time. His existence had been a burden he hadn't known he had been carrying. He felt like Atlas, who had just had someone point out the planet perched on his shoulders. And knowing that there was a way to leave it all behind made that planet feel like a beach ball.

* * *

William stepped up to the edge of the Tower Bridge walkway, staring down at the bridge's roadway below him. He was really here. He was really going to do it. Only a few more moments, and he could say goodbye to this boring, lonely life.

William glanced up at the skyline, breathing in the fresh air—not that he could tell if it was, indeed, fresh or not. But that was one thing that would change very shortly. He would be able to smell, to taste, to feel—Oh, to feel! Feel the wind whipping at his face, feel the warmth of the sun, feel the cold snow falling, feel every little pleasure and pain a human could feel…

William's face began to face from its joyful anticipation from just a moment ago. He would feel everything. **Everything**. Not just the good, but the bad as well. Could he handle that? God knew he didn't handle change very well; just look at how he had reacted to the beheading of Anne Boleyn. Was he really, _truly_ prepared for this?

William gave his head a shake, refocusing on the good. It didn't matter. It was worth it. It would all be worth it. Just suck it up and jump. He turned back to the task at hand, taking a breath and taking a step forward off the bridge.

As he drew his gaze downwards, his mind flashed through every pain and hurt he had been witness to in all his years. Broken limbs, stubbed toes, kitchen burns, gunshots, bruises, paper cuts, broken hearts, sunburns, bruised egos, dislocated shoulders, cancer, appendicitis, heart attack, stroke, death—

William let out a harsh gasp, pulling himself back from the edge and stumbling back. He pulled a hand to his face, covering his mouth as he breathed heavily, almost panting.

 _I can't…I can't…_

It was too much. It was more than he could handle. His mind just couldn't take in that much input at once. He wasn't ready.

But maybe one day…he would be.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Eight

 **Well, that was exciting last chapter. How 'bout this?**

* * *

"So, where are we going?" asked John.

"Victim's flat," William answered shortly.

"Wait, Greg just handed over the information?" asked John, stunned. "He just **let** a private individual in on a police case?"

"He trusts me," said William.

"Why? He's only known you for five days."

William gave a shrug. "Perhaps he's a good judge of character."

"Get on people's good side often?" ribbed John.

"Not typically, no," William answered.

It was true; Michael was the only angel that could stand to be around William. The others found his behavior and scathing comments a bother to be around.

"What about your friends?" asked John.

"I don't have any friends," William answered.

John did a double-take. "You don't?"

William cocked his head to the side for a moment. "Well, no, that's not true. There's you and Molly and Greg."

John frowned. "That's it? Just us three? We're the only people you hang out with?"

"Well, there's Michael, but I don't think he counts. We don't get on very well."

"So, other than your brother, the closest thing you have to friends is Greg, Molly and I?"

William paused for a moment, coming to a stop on the pavement. "You're the only people I've talked to in a…very long time."

"Why? What's different about us?"

William looked John in the eye, smiling slightly. "You're not boring."

John cocked his head to the side in thought.

"You don't understand how rare that is for me, John," said William, sharing an amiable look with him before continuing on.

John stayed behind for a moment before catching up to walk alongside him. "Guess I never really thought about that."

"About what?"

"What that must be like," mused John, staring down at his feet in thought. "For Sherlock's mind to be so far above everyone else's that he can't stand to be around other people."

William gave a smirk. "Now, you're thinking of me as Sherlock."

"Well, come on, the similarities…" said John.

"Who wrote those stories?" asked William.

"Sir Arthur Conan Doyle," John answered quickly.

"Where might I find him?"

John looked at him with a frown. "Why?"

William shrugged. "I'm curious."

John stared at him for a moment before looking away. "No clue."

"Well, the stories have only been published within the last ten years, yes?"

"Yeah."

"So, there must be a way to find him."

"I guess."

"I'll start with his publisher."

"You probably won't get much out of them," John suggested. "Confidentiality agreements and whatnot. Perhaps the guy likes his privacy."

"Perhaps," said William. "When was the last time he published one of the stories?"

"Two years," John answered.

"Hmm," William nodded. "He's probably due for another one."

"Actually, _The Adventure of Schoscombe Old Place_ was the last one," John told him. "He's done."

"Done?" William frowned. "But there was no overall ending. It was just another case solved."

John gave a smirk. "So, you've read them."

"I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

"And?"

"The resemblance is striking, the behavior remarkably familiar and the brainwork surprisingly proficient."

John did a double take. "Wait, was that a complement? From _you_?"

"Don't get used to it," grumbled William.

John chuckled. "I'll have to find this Doyle fellow and congratulate him."

"Please don't," William replied shortly. "Here we are."

They had arrived in front of a brick two-story building, its windows full of potted plants.

"Interesting…" muttered William as they continued on towards the front door.

"What is?" asked John.

"The plants," William answered as he rang the buzzer by the door for the correct flat.

"What about them?" asked John.

The building's intercom sprang to life before he could answer. _"Hello?"_

"Yes, my name is William Scott. I need to ask you some questions."

" _I'm sorry?"_

"I'm a detective, investigating your case. May I come in?"

" _Oh…yes. Just a moment."_

The front door buzzed, and William reached forward to pull the door open. He and John headed to the first door on the right on the ground floor, labeled "A." William knocked, and the door was pulled open.

The middle-aged woman glanced between the two of them. "Hello, um…come on in." She stepped aside to welcome them into the flat.

William's eyes swept over her lack of red, tired eyes; her neat, un-rumpled blouse and jeans; her polished nails and her steaming cup of tea on the coffee table as he stepped past her.

"This is my colleague, Dr. John Watson," William introduced as he stepped over to the windows to examine the plants.

"Pleasure," nodded John as William turned back to face the room. "Sorry about the break-in. Are you doing all right?"

The woman sniffed and put on a brave face. "I'll survive."

"Indeed," muttered William. "Ms. Newcome, the police statement said you claimed the thief tried to hit you with that fire extinguisher."

John and Ms. Newcome both glanced into the kitchen, where the small fire extinguisher hung on the wall close to the stove.

"Yes," said Ms. Newcome as she looked back at him.

"And yet he climbed through **that** window," said William, pointing to his right.

"Yes," said Ms. Newcome, sounding confused.

"So, upon finding you in the sitting room, he journeyed all the way to the kitchen to find a weapon?" speculated William, his eyes narrowed menacingly at her.

John took a quick look around the room before moving his gaze suspiciously towards the woman.

Ms. Newcome gestured around the sitting room. "Well, there's really no weapon in here, is there?" Her tone sounded slightly annoyed.

William pointed over his shoulder at the clay pots on the windowsill. "Those look heavy enough."

Ms. Newcome's eyes moved down to the plants, her expression frozen in realization on her face. _(Oh, crap…)_

"Now, why would a thief avoid these plants to go out of his way for a weapon?" William posed. "It's highly unlikely he held them in the same regard as you do, unless you **are** him."

John stared between them with dawning realization and admiration.

"Insurance fraud," grunted William. "Boring." He turned and strode to the door, leaving a shocked and angry Ms. Newcome behind.

John looked after William before nodding sheepishly at the woman and hurrying through the door after him. Once they were out on the pavement again, John looked up at him.

"It was the plants and her appearance, wasn't it?"

"Sorry?" asked William, looking at him.

"It wasn't just that her plants weren't smashed," explained John. "It was the fact that there was water on them, so she watered them this morning. If she was robbed last night, she wouldn't really be worried about the plants. She also looks like she got a good night's sleep. If I'd been robbed, I wouldn't be able to sleep, which brings up the most obvious point: why is she still staying in the place she was just robbed in? Any other person would have stayed at least _one_ night with a friend or at a hotel."

William came to a stop, staring at him in amazement. "I thought you weren't a detective."

"I'm not," agreed John as he stopped as well. "But I know a thing or two, remember? Now, true, I didn't solve it, but once I had the answer, I could see how you had gotten there."

William paused for a moment and then nodded. "Bravo, John." He began walking again. "Now, phone Lestrade."

John pulled out his mobile, dialing away. "Why can't you call him?"

"Didn't bring my phone," William lied easily enough.

John huffed out a laugh as he rolled his eyes and put the phone to his ear.

* * *

William watched Mary Morstan closely as she moved about the room, studying portraits and sculptures. She was a complete mystery to him. Her appearance, behavior, personality and demeanor told him one story while her mind told him another. It was as though she kept telling herself how to act, how to talk, what to do, almost as though she were playing a part in a play. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pick up anything but this act she was playing. She had **trained** herself to be this way. That suggested she was a professional.

 _A professional what?_

A tap on his shoulder caused him to jump a little and glance over at John, who was staring at him with a concerned expression.

"You all right?" asked John.

"Why wouldn't I be?" asked William.

"You're staring at Mary," John pointed out. "I would expect that kind of treatment for Molly."

William glanced over as Molly joined Mary at one of the paintings. He hesitated a moment before turning to John. "Do you notice anything off about Mary?"

John frowned and glanced at Mary. "Like what?"

William looked back at Mary. "I don't know." He could feel John's gaze returning to him in question. "She's hiding something."

John blinked in surprise, taking an unconscious step away from him.

"I'm not saying she isn't trustworthy or a good person," William amended quickly to reassure him. "I'm just saying that there's something about her…something in her past…that I don't know. And I don't like not knowing."

"Well, maybe it's something private," John suggested. "Something tragic that she doesn't want to think about."

"No, it's something else," said William. "She's playing a part." He looked over after a moment to see John staring uncertainly at Mary. "I shouldn't have said anything." He mentally kicked himself in the head.

"No, no," John brushed off quickly. "I'm…" he sighed, tearing his eyes away from Mary, "I'm not about to cast her off or anything, but I'm definitely going to ask her about it."

William smiled, giving a nod. "Good." He glanced over at the two women chatting away. "It'd be a shame to lose your soul mate."

John frowned as he looked at him. "So, you believe in soul mates? You? Mr. I-don't-have-much-experience-with-emotions?"

William's gaze had shifted to Molly, a smile gracing his face. "People change, John."

Molly glanced back at them, meeting William's gaze and giving him a smile and a small wave. William's smile widened as he returned the gesture.

John glanced between the two, smiling in satisfaction.

* * *

After the double date—because, honestly, it **was** a double date—the four of them had gone back to John's flat at Baker Street. John had made them all tea, handing the cups out in the sitting room (William's, of course, would remain untouched). John had angled the two armchairs in front of the fireplace so that they were closer to the coffee table and facing the sofa. William had unconsciously taken the far seat, an elegant black leather chair.

 _Hmm, nice…_ William thought, getting himself comfortable.

"So, this was nice," Molly commented.

"Yeah, honestly, I would've expected a movie or something," said Mary. "It's nice to come across a well-rounded guy." She smiled at John.

John pretended to look offended. "I do have tastes."

"What about you, Will?" asked Mary. "What are your tastes?"

"It's William," he answered, taking a breath to answer.

"Ooh, William, my apologies," said Mary, giving the other two a sour look, to which John and Molly laughed.

William gave a smile at her good-natured teasing. "I enjoy music—" _that the earth plays when the sun rises._ "I read detective stories—" _by listening to people's thoughts at the library._ "I observe autopsies—" _with my super power of invisibility._ "And I solve crimes," _because I've been spying on Scotland Yard since 1888._

It sounded like the life of a crazy person when you spelled it all out. Luckily, telling only a partial truth was easy enough. _Just keep to your rule: as close to the truth as you can get._

"And you haven't worked as a detective until now?" asked Mary in disbelief.

William answered as truthfully as he could. "Haven't thought about it before."

Mary nodded, accepting that answer. "Are you two opening your own private detective agency, then?"

John shook his head. "Consulting detective, like Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh!" said Mary. "Is that so?" She looked over at William. "Think you can pull it off?"

"Apparently, I am ideally suited to do so," said William.

"Well, good luck," said Molly, giving him another smile.

Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to knock on the door of the flat. "Ooh-ooh!" She stepped into the room. "Everyone having fun?"

"Yes, Mrs. H, thank you," said John, smiling warmly at her.

"Well, if you need anything, just ask," said Mrs. Hudson, glancing over towards the kitchen and spotting the dishes that had been drying on the counter. "Oh!" She immediately hurried over and began cleaning them up.

William glanced down at his untouched tea. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson."

"Yes, dear?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"I believe I'm finished here," he told her, holding the saucer and cup out towards her. He spotted John giving him a look and a subtle shake of the head out of the corner of his eyes.

Mrs. Hudson gave him a stern glare and wagged her finger at him. "I'm the landlady, dear, not the housekeeper." She immediately went back to putting away John's dishes.

William frowned at the dishes she was sorting through and then down at his held-out cup and then back at her housekeeping task. "My mistake." He brought his cup back towards him and looked at John.

John was smiling and shaking his head at him. "Don't ask."

* * *

 **And my groundwork is almost laid...**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Nine

 **So, I thought I would get to start the excitement this chapter, but it turned out I had some more to fill in before that happened, so the excitement starts next chapter!**

 **On a side note, it may be a week or so before my next update. I got promoted, so my schedule is more full, and my grandma passed away yesterday, so we're dealing with the services and all that.**

* * *

William sat in the black leather armchair in 221B Baker Street, watching as John read through a newspaper at the dining table while sipping at a cup of tea.

 _(…Parliament stated Thursday that delegations would be decided as to the direction they would take—)_

"What were you thinking, William?"

William's gaze broke away from John, turning off his mental hack in the process, to see Michael standing behind the other armchair. "Pardon?"

"What did you think jumping off Tower Bridge would accomplish?" demanded Michael as John obviously flipped a page of his newspaper.

William gave a frown. "That was three days ago. Where have you been?"

"Busy," replied Michael haughtily. "Which you should be. You have been especially absent."

William rolled his eyes, looking away. "What do you care?"

"This behavior is unhealthy."

"Again, why do you care?" asked William.

John closed his newspaper and stood, taking his tea into the kitchen.

Michael's gaze followed John into the other room before moving back to William. "Nothing good can come of this."

William shot his eyes back to his brother. "Oh, how would you know? When was the last time you stopped to admire the world and not just do your job?"

"We were created to do our jobs."

"Ah, yes. God's little automatons." William shot to his feet, striding past his brother's glare and moving to the window.

John, meanwhile, was cleaning up his morning refreshments, oblivious to the two angels standing invisible in his home.

"Careful, brother," said Michael hotly. "You are close to blasphemy."

William spun around to address his brother. "See, this is the problem with you, brother dear. You're so worried about rules and appearances. You never bother to use your heart instead of your head."

Michael stared at him long and hard, a frown creasing his features. Only after John had left to head upstairs to his room did he finally speak. "You've changed."

William frowned, watching him closely.

"You used to be a hard-hearted, logic-minded machine," Michael went on. "Now, you are holding your heart above all else." He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head a little. "You love her."

"What?" asked William, taken back by this statement.

"You love her," Michael repeated. "And it's changed you." He raised his head a little. "I approve."

Now, William's frown contorted his face to an impossible degree. "I'm sorry?" He had never done anything that garnered his brother's approval.

"What's her name?" asked Michael.

William stared a moment longer before replying. "Molly."

"Well, my congratulations," said Michael. "This one human has managed to do the impossible. I wish you luck." He turned and disappeared into thin air.

William stared at the place where he had stood long after John had returned downstairs, fully dressed, to lock up and leave, contemplating the other angel's words. Love? Did he really _love_ Molly? If Michael said so, it must be true; he was one of the best angels of the whole host.

So, what did this mean? What does one do with this newfound knowledge? What **could** he do? As he was now, he couldn't pursue anything with Molly. It wouldn't be real. But how long would it take before he was ready to change that? If it took too long, she might move on. And that, he would not be able to handle.

* * *

"Rogers, take your team and sweep Danbury Street," Greg told the few officers assembled in his office. "Donovan, your team will search Clerkenwell Road. He's got to be at one of those locations. Go."

The two sergeants nodded and took the other officers out of the inspector's office. Greg piled some paperwork together as the last officer pulled the door closed.

"I can't see you, but I know you're there," Greg spoke to the empty office.

William smirked as he shed his shield. "You're good at that."

Greg glanced up at him. "You learn to recognize the signs."

William frowned. "Signs?"

"You'll understand one day," Greg told him, leaning back in his chair. "Speaking of, why'd you change your mind? You were all ready to join us last time we met."

"I haven't changed my mind," William told him. "I'm just not ready. Being an angel is all I've known for thousands of years. My mind is unlike any other; I can't just force that big of a change on it. It'll implode. I need time to adjust to the idea of being able someday soon to feel…everything."

Greg nodded. "Fair enough."

"On that subject, may I ask you a question?" asked William.

"Sure."

"What does the sun feel like?"

Greg frowned. "May I ask a question myself?"

William nodded.

"Why the sun?" asked Greg. "Out of all the things to pick, why the sun?"

"Every morning, we gather for the sunrise," William explained. "I know what it sounds like, but I've wondered for years what it would feel like."

Greg nodded, understanding the explanation. "It feels like…" He smiled after a moment, raising his hands and shaking his head. "There are no words to describe it." He laughed a little, his pleased smile growing as he went back to his paperwork.

William's expression sank. What kind of an answer was that? He supposed that Greg found it so pleasant that his mind was overloaded and couldn't think of words, but…Nothing? Not one tiny, little adjective? How great could it be if one couldn't describe it? Was this humanity deal really worth it?

* * *

"I see you and Mary haven't parted ways," William muttered from what he was starting to think of as his armchair in 221B Baker Street.

John glanced up from this side of the game board, staring before shaking his head. "How do you do that?"

"Your haircut," William said brusquely, his gaze never leaving the board.

John's eyes moved upwards (as though it were possible to actually **see** your own hair) before looking back at him. "I don't see the relevance."

"You would eventually," said William, leaning back in his chair and looking up at John. "Dr. Black in the conservatory with the revolver."

John frowned, as though unsure if he heard him correctly. "Dr. Black is the victim."

"Yes…" said William slowly.

John stared at him for a moment. "So, you're saying Dr. Black committed suicide by shooting himself."

William stared at him like he was stupid. "Obviously."

John grimaced and looked down, trying to think of the words to explain. "William…" he looked up, "that's not really how this game works. Dr. Black is the victim, not one of the suspects."

"Why?" asked William.

"Because he's the victim," John explained in frustration.

"It's the only possible explanation," said William.

"Dr. Black can't be a suspect," said John, pointing at the little envelope in the middle of the board. "He's not one of the suspect cards. It's not in the rules."

William shrugged. "Well, then, the rules are wrong."

"William—"

"Then who **is** the suspect?" asked William, gesturing at the envelope.

John sighed and reached for the envelope, pulling one card out and dropping it onto the board. "Conservatory." He did the same with the next one. "Revolver." He reached his forefinger and thumb back in to get the last card, a smug look on his face. It then morphed into a frown as he looked down at the envelope. "Oh…I forgot to put the suspect card in."

William returned the smug look at the fact that he had technically been right.

John pointed at him. "That doesn't count, and you know it."

"I still won," muttered William.

"All right, you know what? Let's play something else." John began gathering the game up.

"So, you talked with Mary," stated William.

John glanced up at him, staring for a moment before putting the board back on the table with a sigh and leaning back in his chair. "The only reason I'm telling you this—because it's really none of your business—is because I know you won't leave it alone until you've cracked the mystery. So, for your peace of mind—and mine—I will tell you what she told me, on one condition…"

William nodded his consent.

"You don't breathe a word of this to anyone, including Mary," John told him sternly.

"I promise," William replied.

John sighed again and looked away for a moment before turning back. "Mary Morstan is not her birth name. Her name is— _was—_ Anna Gwendolyn Rebecca Abbington. She chose the name Mary Morstan to escape from her past life…as a CIA assassin."

William leaned forward in interest. "Of course…"

"She decided to retire from the CIA early, and, well, CIA…" said John.

William nodded. "They assigned a new identity to protect her."

John nodded. "Gotta say, it's not as bad as I was expecting." He gave a self-conscious smile.

William smiled at him. "She's your girlfriend now, isn't she?"

John's smile widened. "Yeah, we are."

"Well, I wish you luck," said William, clearing Cluedo off the table and pulling Operation out. "Shall we?"

"Ooh, finally," said John. "Something I can beat you at."

* * *

Molly glanced around at the skyline around her as she stood on the roof of St. Bart's. "It's so beautiful."

"Looks better from the spire of The Shard," William muttered absently from his spot a few feet away from her.

Molly frowned over at him. "You've actually gotten to the top of The Shard?"

William realized his mistake and thought quickly. "The manager owed me a favor."

Molly smiled and shook her head. "You're so eccentric."

"That's what makes me unique," said William with a smile.

Molly smiled at him and looked back at the view. "I like it up here. It's like the whole world is spread out before you."

William looked over at her as she closed her eyes, letting the sun bathe her face. _She would love our sunrises so much._

William stepped up behind her, slowly leaning forward and wrapping his arms around her. Molly leaned into his chest, placing her hands on his in front of her. She tilted her head back against his chest, and William was amazed at how perfectly she fit against him. It was perfect. Humans had it all wrong; **this** was Heaven.

"There are a lot more sides to you than you let on, aren't there?" said Molly.

"You have no idea," William told her conspiratorially.

He glanced down to see that she still had her eyes closed, basking in the warm sunshine. He was brought back to the question he had asked Greg the other day. The answer he had gotten had been less than satisfactory, but that had been an ex-angel's answer. Everything he knew about being human was only a few years old. Perhaps if he asked on **actual** human…

"What does it feel like?" William hesitantly ventured.

Molly frowned without opening her eyes. "What?"

"The sun," said William.

Molly's frown deepened, and she looked up at him. "What does the sun feel like?"

William nodded. "Yeah."

Molly looked back at the horizon. "Um…" she chuckled, "well, it's…warm and…bright…"

William closed his eyes and tilted his face upwards.

"It's like being in an empty room and suddenly surrounded by everything and everyone you love."

William breathed out a sigh, loving how she could explain it in terms he could understand, even if she didn't realize she was doing so. He could almost feel it.

"Is that what it feels like for you?" asked Molly, looking up at the serene look on his face.

"No," said William, opening his eyes and smiling warmly down at her. "It's better."

Molly smiled, their gazes drawn together and held there. After a moment, William's face drifted towards her own, as though drawn by a magnet. Molly tilted her face up as his fell down. Their lips met in a soft caress, hesitant and tender. The two of them pulled away slightly and smiled at each other, going back in for another kiss. William was sure that it was supposed to feel so much better than this, but if this was what it felt like when he couldn't feel anything, then he couldn't wait for the day he would be ready to take that fall.

* * *

 **Yes, finally!**

 **And I just had to have the infamous (yet unseen) Cluedo scene. That was so much fun to write. I had to give Sherlock some kind of props for his "victim did it" hypothesis.**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Ten

 **I would have had this up yesterday, but I got food poisoning. It's just been the worst week ever...**

 **But on the bright side, vacation this weekend, so the next chapter might be a little bit.**

* * *

William and John walked along the pavement of Marylebone Road, enjoying the weekend morning.

"First kiss on the rooftop at sunset," sighed John wistfully. "It's so romantic."

"Oh, shut up," grumbled William.

John laughed. "So, that's what you led in with? 'What does the sun feel like?'"

"It was a legitimate question," argued William.

"How? Why would you want to know what the sun felt like?"

William shrugged. "I was curious."

John frowned over at him.

William quickly side-stepped. "I know how I would describe the sun—" _bright, but virtually non-existent to me,_ "but how does a normal person describe it?"

"Normal?" asked John.

"Someone who is closer to their emotions than I am."

John smirked. "Data gathering. Always the scientist."

William nodded once. "Always."

 _(Oh, she's gonna pay for that.)_

William frowned as his gaze moved unerringly to the other side of the street, picking out a muscular man with an angry look on his face.

 _(Ungrateful bitch!)_

William glanced him over as John continued to talk about something or other.

 _(Can't hold down a job…Not worth her time…I'll show her.)_

William came to a stop on the pavement, sensing what was coming next.

 _(Thinks she can break up with me. Let's see how well she does when I break_ _ **her**_ _!)_

"William?" came John's voice somewhere in front of him.

William broke into a run as the man moved down an alley.

"William!" John shouted.

William paid no heed to the car horns as he darted across the busy street. He only knew that he needed to get to that man. Once he reached the alley, he came up behind the man, turning him around. Surprised, the man stumbled and lashed out with an arm. William blocked the blow, landing one of his own. The man then pulled a knife from his belt, plunging it into William's gut. Of course, it only went right through him as though he wasn't there.

"William!" yelled John behind him.

William knocked the man upside the head, felling him in an instant.

John rushed over to William, frantically patting at his chest and stomach. "Oh, my God! Are you—"

"I'm fine," William told him.

John frowned at William's unblemished shirt and then looked down at the dropped knife. "I…" He looked back up at William. "I could have sworn he got you."

"I do know how to deflect a knife, John."

"No, I **saw** him—"

"Then you saw wrong. It's all about slight of hand."

"No, no, there's no way I 'misinterpreted' that in the heat of the moment," John insisted. "I was a soldier, remember?"

"What can I say, John?" said William, smoothing his shirt out to show John. "He didn't get me. See?"

John stared at him for a moment before looking down at the blood-free knife on the ground. "Yeah…you're right…" He shook his head after a moment. "Why'd you run after him?"

"Oh, I saw the knife in his belt," William lied. "Knife like that, he could only mean foul play."

"All the way across the street, eh?" asked John. "You sure?"

William frowned. "Yes, why?"

"Nothing, you just…you looked like you were distracted," John explained. "Like you were…listening to something."

"Simply observing," William brushed off. "Now, you were saying?" He strode away towards the street.

"Wait, shouldn't we…" began John, standing over the man as William looked back at him. "You chased him down for a reason. Shouldn't we call the police?"

"Not to worry," said William shortly. "They're on their way." He turned back towards the street just as two officers ran around the corner of the alley. "Armed assault, gentlemen. That, and the intended murder of his ex-girlfriend." He exited the alley and turned down the walkway.

John caught up to him after a moment. "Did you call them?"

"No," William told him. "I—"

"Let me guess: left your phone at home," John chuckled.

William smiled slightly.

"So, how?" asked John.

"They were just next door having a coffee, came to investigate when we ran down the alley," William explained.

"Oh…and how'd you know about the ex-girlfriend?" asked John.

"Devil's in the details, John," said William.

John shook his head. "Do you get off on being cryptic?"

William smirked as John went back to their earlier conversation.

As he and John got lost in their talk, William chastised himself for his actions tonight. Not for stopping the man; he had saved a woman's life. No, he was more upset about how close he had come to exposing himself. Not only had he mixed his duty as an angel with his new crime-fighting life, but he hadn't thought before he had acted. He hadn't seen the cops in the coffee shop; he had heard their thoughts approaching and had **announced** it.

And as if that wasn't enough, he had then told the officers about the man's intentions with no observable basis for his findings. He had looked the man over, and there was not a single clue as to how he would deduce what the man had been planning. He had been so careful this whole time to keep his celestial existence a secret. Why had he slipped?

 _Comfort…familiarity…_

He had gotten comfortable and complacent, so complacent that he had forgotten what he really was and what John was not. He mustn't let it happen again. He would have to be more vigilant.

* * *

 _("'…Ratchett was killed at some time very close upon two o'clock, the latest hour the doctor gives us as possible.'")_

William smiled from his seat next to the young woman, listening to the story she was reading in her head at the library. He had his hands steepled in front of his face as he listened, pleased that his solution four chapters ago had been correct.

 _("'As to who killed him—' He paused, looking at his audience—")_

"Tell them."

William didn't bother looking up at his brother. "You do love an entrance, don't you?"

"Tell them," repeated Michael.

William dropped his hands and looked up at him. "Tell who what?"

"You know what," said Michael. "And who."

William frowned. "They can't know about us. You know that."

"They are getting so close to the truth," Michael told him. "What happens the next time you have to 'deflect a knife.'"

William narrowed his eyes in confusion. "You were there?"

"On more than one occasion," replied Michael.

William's frown deepened. "You're able to hide yourself from other angels?"

"One of the perks of my seniority," Michael told him. "Tell them, William."

William looked away. "I can't."

"If you don't tell them and they find out on their own, they will not appreciate it," said Michael. "You will lose the only friends you have ever had."

"And you care about that, do you?"

"Very. I just want you to be happy."

"Since when?"

"Since always." Michael paused for a moment and then stepped forward and actually sat down in the seat across from him. "I have watched and worried over you for many a millennia. I have seen you struggle through this existence day after day, going through the motions. Hating this life but unable to do anything about it."

Michael leaned forward, making sure he had his brother's full attention. "I have never once seen you with anything close to a passion for life…until the good doctors entered it. Do you really want to risk that?"

William stared at him a moment before glancing away, lost in thought.

"Tell them before it's too late," Michael implored. "I know you. You'll wait until you're ready to be one of them and then it will be a moot point, and you won't have to deal with it. But I promise you it will hurt far less to just come out with it."

Michael then stood and turned away, vanishing.

William stared at the floor in front of him, letting his brother's words float over him. Then—not knowing if he was still there or not—he whispered, "Thank you."

* * *

Today. It would be today.

William had thought over Michael's words all night long. He was right; it was better to hear the truth from him than to find out he had been lying to them. He would tell both of them today at lunch.

 _Quick like a plaster._

William stepped through the doors of the lab, smiling at the sight of Molly whiling away at her samples.

Molly looked up and then smiled. "Hi."

"Hello," greeted William, walking over to her and brushing her hair out of her face. He leaned down and gave her a kiss. "How is your day?"

"Good," Molly answered, giving him another kiss. "You?"

"Now that you're here, it's perfect," William responded.

Molly's smile widened as she gazed lovingly up at him.

"A man of science spouting poetry."

William glanced up to see John entering the lab, his white doctor's coat in place.

"Now, I've seen it all," said John, giving William a smile.

"Oh, let him be, John," said Molly, placing her hand on his arm.

John chuckled. "Ready to go?"

"Just a moment," Molly replied. "Need to file these samples away."

William stepped over towards John as Molly turned to put her work away. He watched as Molly labeled each vial, sticking it into the fridge at the end of the table. She was so beautiful, so perfect. How would she take the news that he had lied, that he was basically a stranger to her? Sure, Molly was the most accepting and benevolent human being he had ever seen, but everyone had their breaking points. Would this be hers?

"Are you okay?"

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, he glanced over to see John looking at him with concern.

"What?" he asked.

"You okay?" John repeated. "You look a little…troubled."

William brightened his expression as he shook his head. "I'm fine, just…thinking."

"About what?" asked John, still looking concerned about him.

"Oh, nothing important," William brushed off.

John nodded a couple times as Molly knelt down to put some things away under the lab table. He then turned back to William. "Oh, I talked to a friend of mine the other day, and he said he was having some trouble with an employee leaking company information but he didn't know who. I told him about what we've been doing lately, and he was wondering if we'd be able to help him out."

William considered a moment and then tilted his head in a shrug. "Sure."

"Great," smiled John. "So, should I tell him to meet at your place?"

William made it appear as though he was thinking about it before shaking his head once. "Better make it Baker Street; more client-friendly."

John nodded. "Okay, I'll let him know."

The phone on the wall of the lab rang, and William glanced at it momentarily.

"John, would you…" grunted Molly from her position under the lab table.

John walked over to the phone, picking it up. "Dr. Watson." He listened for a moment. "Actually, she's headed to lunch. Can it wait?"

Molly's face peeked out from her scrunched-up position under the table.

"Yeah, I'll let her know," said John. "Thanks." He hung up the phone and turned back to the two of them.

"Who was it?" asked Molly, shifting a little to reach towards the wall under the table.

"Dr. Feller," John told her. "He's going to stop by after—"

Molly finished putting the sample away and began pulling herself out from under the table. Her arm knocked against the table leg, jolting the whole table. A scalpel perched on the edge of the table wobbled and slid off of it, tumbling straight towards the floor…and Molly's chest.

"Molly!" exclaimed John.

William's eyes widened as he jumped into action. He teleported over to the table, squatted down and caught the knife just above Molly's chest. He breathed out a sigh of relief, staring at the scalpel.

 _That was a close one._

William's gaze then moved past the scalpel to Molly, who was staring at him with wide, alarmed eyes. William's expression fell as his widened eyes moved to his left and behind him. John stood at the phone, his jaw slack as he stared at him. William's stunned gaze moved back to the scalpel, staring at it in disbelief. It took a moment for the reality of what had just happened to sink in, and when it did, it took his whole world with it.

William had just teleported…in front of John and Molly.

* * *

 **And there it is! Enjoy that for the time being!**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Eleven

William looked past the scalpel at Molly. She was staring at him like he was some kind of stranger…a monster. William slowly lowered his arm as he stood, allowing Molly the room to scramble out from under the table and over towards John. William placed the scalpel gently on top of the lab table.

"How…how did…" muttered John, staring at William in shock. He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. "What are you?"

William stared down at the table, unable to look at them. "I'm a messenger."

"Oh, yeah, we've heard that one before," said John scathingly.

William turned his head towards them in answer. "Of God!" He stopped and took a breath to calm down before turning to face them. "I'm a messenger of God."

John stared at him in disbelief. "You're saying you're an angel?" He smiled at the absurd claim, almost laughing.

William looked at Molly, who was now staring at him with wide eyes, realizing the truth in his statement.

John's smile slowly faded. "Oh, my God…You're serious…"

William glanced back at him.

John's eyes trailed down to the floor, putting the pieces together. "All your excuses for not eating—I've never once seen you eat or drink…You never want to meet at your place…" he smiled sarcastically, "'cause you don't have one…"

William looked back at Molly, whose wide-eyed stare of shock was slowly turning to one of hurt.

John looked back up at him. "That man the other night—the one with the knife—he did get you, didn't he?"

William lowered his gaze in admission.

"Oh, you—" John broke off, trying to contain himself. "What else…hmm? What else have we missed?"

William hesitated before bowing to the inevitable. "I can transport myself at the speed of thought—"

"No shit, William," John spat out. "What else?"

"I can read minds," William told him.

John stared at him. "You can read minds?" He huffed out a bitter chuckle. "So, it's all a lie."

William frowned in confusion.

"There is no 'great consulting detective,'" grumbled John in anger. "It was all a ruse."

"No, John—" began William, understanding what John was thinking.

"You never 'deduced' anything," John continued over William's voice. "You're just a fraud."

Despite how much William protested that he didn't care what other people thought, that had hurt. How could John even _think_ that?

"John—" began William.

"Why?"

The two men were brought to an abrupt halt by the first words Molly had spoken throughout this whole thing. She was staring at William with the worst look of betrayal he had ever seen—and he had been present in the Garden of Gethsemane for Judas' betrayal of Jesus.

"Why?" Molly repeated, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Why what?" asked William softly.

Molly shook her head a little, shrugging as she smiled sadly. "Everything."

William hesitated, trying to figure out how to best phrase it. "I…I didn't want to hurt you."

Almost as soon as he said it, he realized it was the wrong thing to say at the moment.

Molly's tears finally fell down her face as she smiled bitterly. "Well, that worked out really well for you, didn't it?"

William stared at her, his mouth working as he tried to think of the words. Why did this have to be so hard for him?

"Go," said Molly quietly, glaring at him. "Just go."

Finally finding his voice, William took a step forward. "Molly—"

"She said go!" John shouted, stepping in front of Molly and towards William.

William looked at him and then back at Molly, who was staring at him with hard, teary eyes. He slowly took a step back and lowered his head, letting his shield back up. As he disappeared from their sight, Molly finally broke down, the tears flowing freely as she collapsed in on herself. John immediately turned to her, enveloping her in his arms. Molly leaned against John's chest, crying in anguish.

William stared at the scene in front of him, his heart breaking for Molly. In the end, Michael had been right. He should have told them sooner.

 _What have I done?_

William turned and left the room, unable to watch a moment longer.

* * *

The next two days were spent in a listless depression; there was no other word for it. To be given a glimpse of a way out of this mundane existence and to have it snatched away in one moment…Needless to say, William was depressed.

At first, he had heeded Molly's words and stayed away. But after the first twelve hours of roaming the library and streets, he couldn't take it any longer. He'd had a taste of that wonderful drug called life, and he wanted more. He was completely addicted. So, he would take whatever he could get to feel that again.

John dropped down into a seat at the bar, giving a tired sigh.

Greg quirked his brows up. "Well, you look like hell warmed over."

"I feel like it," grumbled John, looking up at the bartender and holding some money up. "A beer, please."

"What happened?" asked Greg. "Did you two have a falling out?"

John looked over at him with a startled expression. "What?"

"Molly won't return my calls," Greg explained.

John relaxed a little. "Oh…right…"

The bartender placed a beer on the counter, and John took a great gulp from it.

"That has nothing to do with Molly and I," John told him. "It's…" He gave a sigh and took another drink.

William watched him uneasily from his spot behind the bar, leaning up against the back counter. This was all because of him. **He** was the reason why John was drinking. **He** was the reason why Molly wasn't talking to Greg.

"We lost a friend," John finally forced out, his jaw clenching.

Greg watched him closely. "I take it this friend didn't die."

John chuckled at that, amused at what Greg was unknowingly implying. "Not bloody likely…" He gave a sigh as he calmed down. "William isn't the…man we thought he was."

Greg paused, staring at him. "He isn't?"

"He's a liar," John grumbled, glaring ahead at the wall in front of him. "Nothing but a liar." He took another drink.

William glanced over at Greg, watching as the wheels in his head finished turning. He knew Greg would figure it all out, but the question was what he would do about it.

Greg glanced down at his drink, hesitating a moment before speaking. "Did he tell you or did you find out?"

 _Oh, this will be an interesting conversation,_ William thought.

John frowned as he looked back at Greg. "Find out what?"

Greg looked at him. "That he's an angel."

And just as William suspected, John's eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in hurt.

"He _told_ you?" asked John.

Greg shook his head. "I just knew."

John gave him a confused frown.

Greg turned more towards him on the bar stool. "I already knew that angels existed. When I met William, I put the pieces together. So, did he finally tell you?"

John stared for a moment before shaking his head a little. "There was an, erm…incident at the lab. He…teleported right in front of us."

Greg nodded. "And you yelled at him, didn't you?"

John turned angrily towards Greg. "He **lied** to us, Greg! He told us who he was, and it was all a lie! He used—" He broke off, turning his head away and seething silently.

"What was he supposed to do, John?" said Greg. "Just come out with it that first day and say 'I'm an angel'?" He looked for a long moment at John. "How would you have reacted to that?"

John shook his head. "He had plenty of chances to come clean, and he didn't. And that's not even the issue. He kept bragging about his mental skills, but it was a lie. He's able to—" He broke off as the bartender approached. He lowered his voice as the man moved on. "He can read minds. He kept making himself out to be some real-life Sherlock Holmes. He used that against me so he could, what? Study us?" He huffed out a breath and drank some more of his beer.

Greg frowned in confusion. "Why would he use Sherlock Holmes against you?"

John stared down at his near-empty beer bottle for a long moment before looking up at him. "Think about it. Dr. John Watson. 221B Baker Street. He's not the first person to draw that kind of conclusion."

Greg sighed, taking a drink of beer. "John…how do you know he wasn't telling the truth?"

John frowned and looked back at him.

"Think back to everything he's done, every encounter you've had with him," said Greg. "Other than anything related specifically to being an angel, did he ever once lie?"

John's eyes grew unfocused as his thoughts turned inward. William could hear him thinking back to all of their earlier conversations.

 _("Are you Mr. Russel's family?" "I'm a visitor."_

" _Are you sure you don't want anything?" "Not hungry."_

" _I am literally incapable of emotions."_

" _I'm a messenger."_

" _I find detective work fascinating." "How'd you get into that?" "Jack the Ripper. He was without a doubt the most intelligent criminal I've ever met."_

" _So, where's your phone?" "Not on me."_

" _Where did you two grow up?" "Oh, here and there."_

" _I deliver incoming parcels to my employer, I give out messages to the public, and in a lesser capacity, I watch over the company."_

" _An apt description, but I don't actually solve any cases. Well, I do solve them on my own, but I don't go out and do anything about it."_

" _I don't have any friends. You're the only people I've talked to in a…very long time."_

" _I enjoy music, I read detective stories, I observe autopsies, and I solve crimes."_

" _Why would you want to know what the sun felt like?" "I was curious."_

" _What can I say, John? He didn't get me.")_

John frowned in indecision.

 _(But he…he knew. He knew and used it against me. I can't…)_

Again with the using something against John. What was he on about? Whatever it was, it was tied in with everything William didn't know about John. But how could he not know? Could it be that William wasn't letting himself figure it out for the sake of John's privacy?

 _(But…could it have all been a coincidence? Maybe…)_

John looked up at Greg as his thoughts trailed off.

Greg gave him a smile. "Doesn't he deserve the chance to explain?"

John considered for a moment before nodding slightly.

Greg nodded. "Good." He patted John's shoulder as he stood. "You're welcome, William." He walked past John's seat towards the door.

As William's eyes widened—

 _How had he known I was here?_

—John spun in his seat towards Greg with a frown. "What was that?"

Greg stopped and turned back to him. "That whole 'watching over humanity' thing?" He glanced around them. "Quite literal." He looked back at John.

John's jaw dropped. "Are you saying he can turn invisible?"

"Basically," shrugged Greg.

John glanced around, as though trying to spot the invisible angel. "So…he could be here right now?"

"Probably," said Greg. He nodded once at John. "Good night."

John didn't say anything as Greg turned and left. He merely faced forward again and stared down at his drink, his jaw clenched slightly.

William watched him for a moment, considering the conversation the two men had just had. John had agreed to hear him out. Maybe this friendship wasn't as lost as he had believed it to be. William circled around to the seat Greg had vacated, making himself comfortable as he prepared to show himself.

 _(If you_ _ **are**_ _here, don't. I'm not ready. Give me time to think.)_

William stared at John, taking in the tense shoulders and fixed gaze. He was upset again? Why? He had just decided to talk to William, and now he was upset with him again? It didn't make any sense. Unless…Well, he supposed finding out that you had been spied upon would be pretty infuriating. John had asked for time; William would give him time.

William vanished from his seat, headed elsewhere. John glanced at the seat next to him and then downed the rest of his beer.

* * *

William appeared in the morgue, glancing around for his pathologist. She was standing at the drawers, filling out some paperwork on a clipboard. He approached her, circling around until he was facing her. She was staring at the clipboard, her pen poised above the paper and her eyes unfocused. After a moment, she shook herself a little and went back to writing, still not completely focused on her task.

William had missed Molly so much, it was painful. Every second away from her was torture. It wasn't so much that he had to be with her at all times; he hadn't spent every moment with her before. But the fact that Molly was emotionally withdrawn from him was agony. If he could only see her again, everything would be okay. He was sure everything would be all right as soon as he could talk to her.

Molly flipped the top papers back onto the clipboard, turning away from the drawers and heading towards the doors. William followed her as they swept into the hall, heading for the lift. As they entered the lift and the doors closed, William watched her closely as she raked over her report one last time. After a moment, Molly's gaze drifted up and froze. She turned her head and looked over at where William was standing. Her eyes glanced about the space where William stood, as though sensing something was there but unable to grasp it.

The lift sounded its telltale _DING!_ , and the doors slid open. Molly abruptly looked away and headed into the hallway, approaching the lab. William followed her in, standing over by the windows to keep out of her way. Molly moved about the lab, oblivious to his presence. And even though he had been around her without her knowing before, it somehow hurt so much this time around. To be so close and not able to touch her, not able to even talk to her…

Molly came back out from her office, glanced up and jumped, her hand flying up to cover her heart. "Oh!" She took several breaths to calm herself. "What are you doing here?"

William glanced around him, but saw no one there. When he glanced back, he could see that Molly was looking at _him_.

William frowned. "Are you talking to me?"

"Of course I am," Molly shot back. "What, did you think you were invisible or something?"

William glanced down at the floor. _I must have been wanting to see her so bad that I let myself be seen._

In his silence, Molly came to the right conclusion. "Oh, my God…"

William looked back up at her.

"You **can** turn invisible, can't you?" whispered Molly, her face twisting in horror. "Have you been following me?"

William held his hand out. "Molly—"

"You have, haven't you?" accused Molly, her voice rising in fury.

"Molly, you don't understand—" began William, raising both hands in supplication. _Why does no one let me explain?_

"What gives you the right to spy on me?" yelled Molly, advancing dangerously on him.

"It's normal for—" began William again.

" _Normal_?" Molly nearly shrieked. " _This_ is _normal_?! You really are a monster, aren't you?"

William backed away as the furious pathologist reached him. "Molly—"

He never even saw Molly's hand move. One moment, he was trying to beseech Molly into hearing him out, and the next, he was reeling from a vicious slap across his face. His face didn't feel it, but his heart…

"You didn't even feel that, did you?" whispered Molly.

William didn't need to look at her to know that tears were falling down her face. And somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to point out that she was wrong; it had hurt him more than anything else ever could.

Molly turned on her heel and headed towards her office. Just before she slammed the door, William finally found his voice.

"I'm sorry," he whispered dejectedly, not knowing if she would hear it or not.

The slam of the door echoed around the room as William turned and left.

On the other side of the door, Molly leaned against it, her hand over her heart as tears fell down her face and her voice barely above a whisper. "So am I."

* * *

 **I had meant to end this chapter a little later, but the interactions in between John and Molly finding out and...well, I can't tell you yet...were just too long. Besides, I like this chapter's ending.**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Twelve

 **Okay, this turned out to be a long one, but I definitely wanted all of this in it, so...**

* * *

William sat on the sofa of 221B Baker Street, sulking. Both encounters with John and Molly yesterday had gone badly, Molly even more so. Even if he and John had technically never even talked, it had still left a hole in him; a hole of lost friendship. It was a different kind of ache than the one Molly had left behind. The loss of Molly was a torture unlike any he had ever witnessed in human history. But, John…John had been a comrade, a brother-in-arms, a companion…a friend.

So, William had come home to wallow. For that was what 221B was starting to feel like: home. Even if his pretend flatmate hated him. Speaking of…

John stepped out of the kitchen with his cup of tea, stepping over to his armchair and settling into it. After taking a sip of the tea, he set the cup on the small table next to him and pulled the newspaper over, beginning to read the front page. After a few moments, he glanced up at the empty leather armchair across from him. He stared at it for a moment before folding the paper back up with a sigh and going back to staring at the chair.

William stared at him for a moment before sighing and shaking his head.

 _What am I doing?_

It was clear by now that all he brought them was pain. He shouldn't have made contact in the first place. If he hadn't been so selfish, they would have been spared. He should just leave now before he caused them more pain.

William stood from the sofa, striding towards the landing outside.

"William?"

William froze in the doorway, terrified. Had he subconsciously shown himself again?

"Are you here?"

William frowned in confusion, turning around. John sat staring around the room in front of him, waiting for a response. For a moment, no one moved or spoke.

John finally bowed his head slightly. "Look…I'm not upset anymore." He then frowned. "Well, no, I am, but I-I'm not angry." He gave a sigh, looking over at the leather armchair. "I just…want to talk."

William stared at him in amazement. _An olive branch…_

Should he take it? He had already figured out that he had caused them so much pain, so shouldn't he leave them in peace? However…John had offered him a way in, risking further pain for the hope of something better. Couldn't he return the favor?

"I'm sorry."

John's head spun towards the doorway, looking him in the eye. "Hey…" He stared at William for a long moment before looking away and gesturing to the seat across from him.

William crossed to the armchair and settled into it, resting his arms on the rests. He and John glanced at each other for a moment before looking away, staring at anything but each other.

After what felt like forever, William suddenly leaned forward, his arms resting on his legs. "I'm so sorry, John. You have to understand. I wasn't spying on you. It's—"

"William—" began John.

"—perfectly normal for angels to watch over humanity," continued William, on a roll. "It's our job. It's all we've ever known."

"William," John tried again.

"It was just a natural reflex that—"

"William!" yelled John.

William's mouth snapped shut as he realized that he had made John angry yet again. But when he looked at him, he was surprised to see a slightly fond smile on John's face.

"Calm down," John told him. "I understand."

William tilted his head a little, frowning. "You do?"

John nodded. "We're different. What's normal for me may not exactly be normal for you. It's not really fair of me to judge when I don't know your world."

William stared at John, completely shocked. "That's…" He took a breath, nodding slightly. "Thank you."

John pointed a finger at him. "I'm still upset, mind you…but I understand." He lowered his hand.

William nodded again. "What would you like to know?"

John thought for a moment before responding. "How long have you been…following us?"

"I saw you the night before I met you at the movie night with the two of you and Greg and Mary," William answered. "Molly, the day before. I had been accompanying Greg on his cases for years—well, I had been with Scotland Yard ever since Jack the Ripper—"

"So, it's true," John interrupted. "You actually met Jack the Ripper?"

William nodded. "I did."

"And?" asked John. "Was he ever caught? For anything?"

"He did meet his death at the hands of a mugger, but, no, he was never apprehended," William explained.

"A mugger?" asked John. "Jack the Ripper was defeated by a mugger?"

"Well, he had a multiple personality disorder," William explained. "One part of him was a well-maintained citizen, highly respected professor and valued member of society. The other…was a murderous psychopath with a penchant for young women. He was actually the inspiration for Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."

"Hmm." John nodded thoughtfully and looked back at him. "So, you were following Greg…"

William nodded. "He needed to visit St. Bart's for information on the body. That's when I met Molly. I didn't know why at the time, but she held my interest like no one before. And then she inadvertently introduced me to you. You proved to be another exception to this boring humanity. In fact, every one of your little group offers something unique and special. You, Mary, Greg…Molly…"

John gave a small smile. "You love her, don't you?"

William paused a moment before giving a smile. "I think I do."

John's smile grew. "Well, I wish you luck. Molly is…quite a handful."

William laughed a little. "Indeed she is."

John narrowed his eyes at her. "You've talked with her, haven't you?"

William looked at him, astounded at how well he could read people. "I wouldn't call it talking so much as her yelling at and then slapping me."

John stared at him for a moment. "I'll talk to her."

William raised his head in interest. "Really?"

"Yeah," John told him.

William's gaze drifted away and back. "I'd wager nothing like this ever happened to Sherlock Holmes."

John smiled and laughed. "Probably not." He watched the angel warily.

William frowned in thought, staring at the fireplace. "I wonder if it ever would have."

John frowned. "Pardon?"

William looked back at him. "I wonder how many genres Doyle went through before settling on mystery. Could you imagine Sherlock Holmes battling some mythical creature? A dragon, perhaps?"

John stared at him for a moment before leaning forward. "So…you didn't go through with it?"

"With what?" asked William.

"Finding Sir Arthur Conan Doyle," said John.

William nodded in understanding. "I was going to—was even on my way to the publisher—but then I started thinking. Doyle has never made any public appearances, no one knows anything about him…What right do I have to dig up this person's secrets?" He smiled at John. "Would be a bit hypocritical, wouldn't it?"

John stared at William in amazement, at a loss for words. "That's very nice of you, William."

William shrugged and then paused, hesitating. "On that topic…" he grimaced and shifted uneasily, "I can't promise I'll stop, because it's just who we are—it's in our nature—but…if you ever ask if I'm there and I am, I will show myself. I promise you that."

John nodded. "I appreciate that."

William smiled at him, wondering if he should tell John about when they had met thirty years ago. He had sworn that he would be honest with his friends from now on, but it just didn't feel like the right time. One day soon…but not today.

"So, what else would you like to know?" asked William.

John fumbled for words for a moment, the look on his face suggesting William had interrupted an important thought. "Erm…I-I, er…y-yeah, of course, erm…" He glanced away and then back with an embarrassed smile. "This is probably a stupid question."

"No such thing," said William.

John gave him a look.

William rolled his eyes. "In this case."

John smiled. "That's more like it."

"What's your question?" asked William.

"Can you, erm…" John chuckled, "fly?"

William stared at him before bursting into laughter.

John joined in after a moment. "I'll take that as a 'no.'"

William nodded. "Good choice."

The two friends laughed together.

* * *

John glanced up as Molly entered the coffee shop, and he smiled at her.

Molly stepped over to the table he sat at. "Hi."

"Hi," said John as she sat across from him. "How've you been?"

Molly shrugged a little, placing her handbag on the chair next to her. "I've been better."

John nodded. "I know what you mean."

The barista walked over with the two drinks John had ordered and set them on the table.

"Ta," said John.

The girl nodded and strode back to the counter.

John blew on the surface of his espresso and took a tentative sip, flinching at the hot beverage. Setting the mug back down to let it cool, he looked up at Molly, who was cradling her café latte and staring into the white foam on the top of it.

John hesitated a moment before speaking. "William told me what happened the other day."

Molly looked up at him, her eyes wide and—dare John say it?—hopeful. "You…you've talked with him?"

John gave a sigh. "I did. And it sounds like you really let him have it."

Molly frowned sadly and looked back down at her coffee. "I wish I hadn't. He didn't deserve it." She glanced up to see John staring at her. "Well, he does deserve our anger, but…he didn't deserve that. And he certainly didn't deserve my hitting him." She looked miserably back at her coffee.

John leaned forward a bit. "He still cares for you, you know."

Molly's eyes swiftly met John's, her mouth opening slightly.

"Very much," John went on. "I don't think a little slap in the heat of the moment is going to change that."

Molly smiled, wringing her hands nervously. "Really?"

John smiled. "Oh, yes."

Molly's smile faded a little. "But…" She glanced around them suspiciously. "It's just that…how do we know he's not here right now, listening to everything we say? Watching us?"

John nodded before also glancing around. "William? Are you here?"

Molly frowned in confusion as John waited for a reply. When nothing happened, he looked back at her with a smile.

"What was that?" asked Molly.

"William made a promise that if we ever asked, he would show himself," John explained.

Molly's frown turned into a surprised look. "He did?"

"What, no denial that he would keep a promise like that?" asked John.

Molly shook her head. "I trust him."

"You do?" asked John. "After all this?"

Molly shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "Yes, well…"

John smiled knowingly. "You love him, don't you?"

Molly glanced up at him, blushing. That was an answer in and of itself.

"Then talk to him," John told her.

Molly sighed as she fidgeted in her seat. "How?"

"I imagine the library'll do," said John.

Molly frowned. "The library?"

John nodded. "Apparently, they like to hang out there."

Molly looked down at her latte, an uncertain look on her face.

John reached over and grasped Molly's hand, bringing her gaze up to his. "Just try. What could it hurt?"

Molly smiled at him and then nodded.

John gave her hand a squeeze and then pulled his hand back, taking a sip of his slightly cooled-down coffee. "So, 'Walking on Sunshine,' huh?"

Molly's jaw dropped. "How did you know…"

"William reads minds, remember?" said John with a smile.

Molly rolled her eyes as she laughed.

* * *

Molly stepped through the front doors of the library, glancing around the lobby nervously. After a moment, she stepped towards the stairs, heading towards the first floor. She passed the help desk, walking down rows of tables and armchairs that people were reading at.

William's eyes widened as he straightened up from his bent position over a library patron reading "The Woman in White." He turned his head to see that Molly had indeed just passed him. He could only stare as she entered the shelves of books.

Molly stepped past the biographies and historical fiction before entering one of the mystery aisles that was empty. She slowly strode down it, glancing all around.

 _(William?)_

William stepped into the aisle after her, watching as she came to a stop in the middle and pretended to be perusing the shelf.

 _(William, are you here?)_

So, she and John had talked. He had told her of the promise he'd made to them. And after everything, he was not about to break that promise, especially if it gave him a chance to talk to her.

Molly waited a moment before turning a little to move to the next shelf of books to continue "browsing." She spotted a figure in black out of the corner of her eye and slowly turned toward it. William stood at the end of the aisle, staring nervously at her.

Molly fidgeted a little before walking over to him. "Hi."

William smiled a little. "Hi."

There was an awkward silence as each of them struggled to push past the memory of their last encounter.

"Sorry for—" began Molly.

"I'm sorry I—" said William at the same time.

They both broke off at the same time and smiled awkwardly.

"I'm sorry for…everything," said William.

"No, I'm sorry for hitting you," said Molly. "I was so upset about the secrets and everything that it all just…spilled over. I wished I could take it back almost as soon as I had done it."

William shrugged. "I deserved it."

Molly quickly shook her head. "No, you didn't. Maybe the yelling, but the slap was taking it too far."

William stared at her for a moment. "You were wrong, you know."

Molly gave him an inquisitive look.

"I did feel it," William whispered.

Molly's eyes softened at that, understanding exactly what he meant.

"It must be nice," said William.

"What?" asked Molly.

"To feel," William told her. "Even if it is pain."

Molly was filled with such sympathy for him then that it nearly overwhelmed her. To be forever close to humanity but never able to touch it…

"Must be lonely…" muttered Molly.

William stepped closer, smiling down at her. "Not anymore."

Molly could see how he felt in his eyes—could see the feelings there—and her heart raced in response. She couldn't believe this was happening. Finally, a man that she loved had loved her back.

Molly's gaze dropped in uncertainty. But did he? Did he really love her? After all, he was an angel. He had never experienced these emotions before; John had told him as much. So, how could William know what love was? What if somewhere down the line he realized that it wasn't love at all and abandoned her? She couldn't take that again.

Molly took a step back from him, her heart pounding in her chest. "I, erm…"

William frowned as Molly stepped away from him. Had he done something wrong?

"You should probably know that, erm…" Molly fidgeted nervously, trying to come up with something. "Well, the thing is…" She finally landed on something. "An old friend stopped by Bart's yesterday and asked me out."

William's face fell as his heart did likewise, afraid of what she would say next.

"I said yes," said Molly quickly before finally looking up at him.

William's face just about broke her heart, but she stayed resolute. It was best for both of them if they just went their separate ways.

"I mean, let's face it," said Molly shakily. "It never would've worked with us. We're too different."

William's heart clenched so painfully that it felt like it would burst. Was this what a broken heart felt like?

Molly hesitated a moment before stepping forward. "I hope you see that." She brushed past him and hurried out of the library.

William stood in the aisle of the library, staring at where Molly had left his life forever.

She was gone.

* * *

William wandered the streets of London all night, not really paying attention to anything or anyone. What did any of it matter anymore if he didn't have Molly? He had thought it hurt before, but nothing compared to the pain of this heartbreak. In a weird way, Molly was right; they weren't even the same species.

William froze on the spot. That was it. The way back to her: the Fall.

William began glancing around for the closest tall structure before realizing that he was standing on the roof of St. Bart's Hospital. Perhaps his subconscious had known what he should do before he had.

William turned towards the edge of the building, staring at the stone precipice. This was it. After this, there was no turning back. But why would he want to go back? Back meant an existence without Molly, which would be absolute hell.

So, now, his two choices stood before him: heaven or hell, Molly or infinite loneliness, human or angel. There really was no contest. Just a glimpse into this Molly-free world was more than he could bear.

William walked slowly to the ledge, stepping up onto it. On the street below, a few early-morning risers wandered the square, humans going about their day. Only a little while longer, and he would join them. He would fall from his world and into theirs.

A slice of brilliant light hit his face, and he looked up to see the sun breaking over the horizon. A pure, enchanting hum filled the air, piercing his soul. William smiled and closed his eyes, letting the song wash over him. Somehow, this one seemed so much more beautiful than any that had come before it. Perhaps it was just the knowledge that he would never hear it again, but it was as though the earth knew it would be his last. If he could just enjoy the one thing about being an angel that he had loved…

William smiled as the song enveloped him. _It's okay. I'm only trading one heaven for another._

William's eyes opened, the sun filling his vision as he slowly spread his arms. He looked up towards the stars, his arms stretched out to either side. The sun's song came to a slow, exquisite end, and William closed his eyes.

 _I'm coming, Molly…_

William moved his foot over the ledge and pitched himself forward.

* * *

 **Just so you all know, the reference to Sherlock fighting dragons was not a reference towards The Hobbit (although, now that you mention it…). It came to me because of Mycroft's line in "His Last Vow" about Sherlock being a dragon slayer. It fit so well…**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Thirteen

"Boss."

Greg glanced up from his desk to see Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan sticking her head into his office. "What is it, Donovan?"

"Got a call," Donovan told him. "Jumper over at Bart's."

"Oh, God, not another one," Greg muttered, lowering his head before getting to his feet. "Call Dr. Hooper. We'll need to get her into the morgue to—"

"No, no, boss," Donovan interrupted. "He's at Bart's. They checked him in."

Greg froze, frowning. "He survived?"

Donovan nodded. "They've got him on psych watch."

Greg's frown deepened. "Then why were _we_ called?"

"They don't know who he is," Donovan explained. "He had no I.D. on him." She popped back out into the outer office.

Greg stared after her, wondering. _It couldn't be, could it?_ He quickly grabbed his coat and keys, hurrying out to his car and over to Bart's.

Of course, it was entirely possible that the jumper was just a jumper; plenty of people have tried to kill themselves before and botched it up. But what if? What if William had finally taken that leap?

Greg pulled up to the hospital, glancing over at where an orderly was cleaning up some blood on the pavement. He looked up towards the roof before stepping through the front door and striding over to the nurse's station.

Greg pulled his badge out and showed it to the nurse. "Inspector Lestrade. We were called?"

The nurse nodded. "Third floor."

"Ta," said Greg, moving over to the lift.

After emerging from the doors on the third floor, he repeated the whole process over again.

"Let me call the doctor for you," the nurse told him, picking up a phone.

Greg turned, looking at the doors in the corridor and wondering which one the mysterious jumper was behind. If it was indeed William, Greg had to get him out of here. Of course, that would involve a cover story. It wouldn't do to have the hospital call the police about a missing patient.

So, what would be believable? William was a known suspect? No, no, he shouldn't alarm the staff. William was his brother? Definitely not; they would wonder why he didn't care enough about his brother to get him medical help. Witness protection? Well, close, but that would require a lot of paperwork to make it believable, what with confidentiality agreements and whatnot.

 _This is going to be harder than I thought,_ Greg mused before finally stumbling onto the answer. _Ah, what about—_

"Hello, Inspector."

Greg turned towards the doctor as he approached. "Doctor. How is he?"

"He only sustained a few scrapes and bruises, which leads me to believe that he must have only been on the first floor when he jumped," the doctor told him. "So, I'm not sure he's suicidal; might be more of a thrill-seeker."

"Has he said anything?" asked Greg.

"He hasn't woken up yet," the doctor told him.

 _Oh, yeah,_ Greg thought. _He won't wake for another few hours._

"Can I take a look on my own?" he asked.

The doctor nodded. "Sure. Room 313."

Greg nodded his thanks before turning and heading down the hall. Finding room 313, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. William lay in the hospital bed, his wrists strapped to either side of the bed.

Greg closed the door behind him and stepped closer, getting a better look. An inch-long cut lay on his right temple just in front of his hairline. His hair would've hidden it except for the fact that it was combed back from his face. Surrounding the cut was a small, dark bruises, again close enough to his hairline to be hidden. Glancing down, Greg also spotted a long scrape along his right forearm, starting at his wrist and extending to his elbow.

Greg stepped up next to the sleeping ex-angel, who had yet to awaken to his new existence. "Welcome to this brave new world, my friend." He smiled in good spirits. "You're going to hate it." He chuckled before moving back towards the corridor.

* * *

The gentle darkness began to bleed away, thrusting him into a harsh, vibrant consciousness. As he opened his eyes, he became aware of three things: one, that his head and arm ached; two, that he was comfortably warm; and three, that he didn't recognize the room he was in.

He was lying in a bed, the covers pulled up to his chest. Looking around, he was stunned by how bright and colorful everything was. He had thought he had seen the world as an angel, but as a being that existed within the veil, he could never truly **see**. That veil was now removed, and the world had never looked or felt better.

"You owe me."

William glanced over to see Greg sitting in a corner of the room.

"You wouldn't believe the ridiculous story I had to come up with to get you here," Greg told him with a smile.

William began to sit up before a sharp stabbing sensation in his back made itself known. He groaned in pain as Greg got up and came over, helping him to sit up against the headboard.

William gave a pained sigh as Greg sat on the edge of the bed. "From where?"

"The hospital," Greg told him.

William looked at him in surprise.

"That's what happens when you're found bleeding and unconscious outside of one," said Greg with a smile. "I had to get you out of there before they started asking questions about why you basically don't exist. You couldn't have chosen someplace else to fall?"

William shrugged. "It seemed appropriate." He shifted a little, wincing as another pain stabbed at him. "So, what'd you come up with?"

Greg smiled at him. "You were working undercover for the Yard. I had to take you with me to protect your identity."

William nodded. "Good thinking. And plausible, if I'm going to pursue this detective thing."

He glanced down, spotting an angry, dark red graze on his right arm. He stared at it, completely fascinated. He could bleed. He could actually bleed. It had worked.

"Amazing, isn't it?" said Greg.

William looked up at the understanding look on Greg's face.

"Just wait till you discover ice cream," Greg told him.

William smiled and then pulled the blanket back and swung his legs out of the bed. "I need to find Molly."

Greg swiftly stood as William jumped out of the bed, putting his hands on his chest. "Wait, wait, hold on. You just became human. You need to eat before you do anything." He gave William a wry look. "Be a shame for you to pass out on the way and end up back in the hospital."

William stared at him a moment before rolling his eyes in assent. As much as it pained it to admit, the inspector was right. Not to mention, he was a little curious about food.

Greg led him out of the room and into the kitchen. "Since it's your first meal, we're going to do this right: a full English breakfast."

"Very well," sighed William, settling himself at the table in the kitchen.

After twenty minutes, a strange sensation had begun to creep into William's gut: an insistent ache that seemed to emanate from the center of his body. It was different than the sharp sting of the cuts or the dull throb of the bruises. It felt as though some creature were pulling on his gut, sucking it away and leaving him with a void that the rest of his body would collapse into. At first, William didn't say anything, hoping it would pass, but after a full five minutes of the foreign sensation, he could bear it no longer.

"Greg, something's wrong," William spoke up, grasping at his stomach.

Greg turned and frowned at him. "What is it?"

William frowned. "I don't know. It just—"

At that moment, William's gut let out a strange gurgling sound like a wounded animal. He looked down at his stomach with a disturbed expression on his face.

Greg laughed at the look on the other man's face. "You're just hungry."

William looked up at him, brow furrowed in shock. " **That** is hunger?"

"Yeah," chuckled Greg.

"It's horrible," complained William, clutching at his growling stomach.

"I know," said Greg, giving him a smile. "Isn't it great?"

William smiled at him, knowing exactly what he meant. It felt so wonderful to be feeling anything.

Greg turned back to the stove, dumping various foods onto two plates. He walked over to the table, setting one in front of William. "There you are." He held a hand up in front of him. "Go slowly or you'll make yourself sick."

William nodded before looking down at the plate full of eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, tomatoes, fried bread, kidneys, kippers, mushrooms and potatoes. Even though he had never eaten before, his human instincts—human! He was _human_!—told him that what lay in front of him would make this ache go away. He picked up the fork and speared some eggs on it, staring at them in amazement before putting them into his mouth.

Oh, the taste! The texture! He had never known something so good in his whole existence! The soft food just seemed to melt on his tongue. He looked up at Greg with wide eyes.

"Good, isn't it?" said Greg, well into his own breakfast.

"Mm," William mumbled out as he quickly downed two more bites.

Greg chuckled and put a hand on William's arm. "Slow, remember?"

William nodded before moving on to the sausage.

* * *

Another hour, which involved an awkward—yet thankfully solo—first bathroom trip, and William was changed out of his hospital garb and back into his black attire, the one thing he was able to keep from his time as an angel. Exiting Greg's building, he paused on the stoop, taking everything in.

It was now mid-morning, and London was awake and thriving. William stared at the people walking by, once again struck by how much more bright and vivid everything was. The sights of the elegant buildings and preoccupied civilians; the sounds of taxi cabs honking and a couple birds singing somewhere nearby; the feel of the cool morning air contrasting with the warmth of his coat; the smell of the crisp morning air—

William took a deep breath, taking in the smell of the city. True, it wasn't exactly a fresh meadow, but it was real. And it was wonderful. As if reading his mind, the dreary London clouds parted, and the sun shone through. William glanced up at it and immediately regretted it. Wincing, he brought a hand up to shield his face, squinting up at the great big ball of light. He then closed his eyes and lowered his hand, a smile growing on his face as he reveled in the sunlight. Molly was right; it was like being surrounded by your loved ones.

"Excuse me."

William quickly stepped down onto the pavement, turning to see a young woman in the doorway behind him. He had been so drawn into his own experience that he had quite forgotten that he was no longer able to be invisible to those around him. "Sorry."

The woman nodded politely at him as she closed the door and stepped into the pedestrian traffic.

William followed her to the corner, looking for the name of the street. _Walton Street. Good. That's only fifteen blocks from Molly's flat._

William turned away, setting his mind to transporting himself to the street outside Molly's flat. As he completed his turn, he was confused to find that he hadn't moved. Staring at the street for a moment, he then rolled his eyes and shook his head.

 _It's going to be harder to adjust to this than I thought._

Pointing himself in the right direction, he set off at a quick pace while also trying to enjoy the walk. The noise, the people! He never knew that the humanity he always found so boring could be so exhilarating. It would most likely not stay that way, but for the moment, he was surprisingly happy to feel how everyone else did.

William's gaze wavered when something collided with his shoulder, sending him to a stop as he staggered a little. The bump jarred an injury he had sustained in the Fall, sending an ache out through his shoulder and down his arm and chest. He turned to look at the hurrying man as he continued on, not looking back. William raised a hand, rubbing at his shoulder and smiling absently at the sensation.

 _DING, DING, DING, DONG!_

William turned and looked up as the bells continued to sound. The Elizabeth Tower that housed Big Ben stood against the backdrop of sky, tall and bold. He listened to the quarter bells ringing out their quarterly tune. It was beautiful in its own way, the first music he had heard in this new world.

 _DONG!_

 _DONG!_

 _DONG!_

William looked towards the clock face as Big Ben continued to strike the hour. The time read ten o'clock. The sight triggered a memory from earlier that week.

 _Molly. Her date!_

William set off at a renewed pace, pushing through the crowd to get to her. He had seen on her calendar for the day a scribbled-in entry labeled, "TOM 11AM." He hadn't known what it was at the time, but now that he knew…He had to get to her before she left.

Finally after twenty minutes, he was standing in front of Molly's building, ringing her buzzer. There was no answer.

 _No…Oh, God, no!_

She had left. She had already left for her date. He hadn't made it.

The door in front of him suddenly opened, and Molly almost collided with him.

"Oh, sorry," said Molly quickly as she looked up at him and froze. "William?"

William's eyes looked her over, taking in her black trousers, her purple button-down shirt, her pearl necklace, her subtle yet flattering make-up and her slightly curled hair. _She's on her way out to meet him…_

Molly frowned, peering closely at his face. "Are you bleeding?" She reached up towards the bruise and cut on his head. "Oh, my God! What hap—" Her voice broke off as she stopped, lowering her hand as she stared at him. "I thought you couldn't…"

"We can't," William told her and then stopped himself at his word usage. " **They** can't."

"They?" asked Molly, confusion on her face.

William hesitated a moment, feeling something literally indescribable (because how can you describe it if you've never felt it before?) at being able to say it. "I'm human now."

Molly's eyes widened. "Human?" She struggled for the words in her shock. "How?"

"I fell," he told her. "I chose to become human, and I fell."

Molly's jaw dropped open further. "Why? Why would you give up everything you've ever known?"

William's gaze softened as he smiled at her. "For you."

Molly let in a sharp breath, taken back by his words.

William stepped closer to her, bringing his hand up to cup the side of her face. "I love you."

Tears sprang into Molly's eyes, and William frowned in distress, believing he had upset her again. "This isn't just me trying to win you over to get what I want, or anything else you may be thinking. I had the briefest glimpse of a life without you, and it was agony. I don't want to live forever if you're not with me. I love you too much to—"

Molly suddenly placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled him down, their lips colliding. William responded in kind by wrapping his arms around her. He had been right; the sensation of having Molly's lips on his, his arms wrapped around her, was so exquisite and amazing that there were no words. It was so much more extraordinary than he had ever fantasized it would be.

They finally broke apart, and William looked down into Molly's eyes, now understanding that her tears were ones of joy.

"I'm not too late?" he asked.

Molly frowned, her hands sliding down to rest on his chest. "For what?"

"Tom," said William, Molly's actions conflicting with her attire and calendar plans and sending his brain for a loop.

Molly frowned in confusion.

William frowned as he gestured pointedly at her appearance. "Your date."

Molly looked down at herself before it finally clicked. "Oh…" An embarrassed smile lit up her face as she brought a hand to the side of his face in sympathy. "Tom is not my date. It's my pathology conference."

William's frown deepened.

"'Theory of Medicine Conference,'" Molly explained. "We all call it the TOM Conference for short."

William's mind flashed back to her calendar, where the name Tom was indeed in all capitals. But…

"But your date…" said William, frown still in place.

Molly's embarrassed smile returned. "There is no date." At the questioning look on his face, she went on. "I made it up. No one asked me out."

"Why?" asked William, easing away from her slightly.

Molly hesitated before plowing on. "I was afraid."

William's expression eased as understanding flooded in. He could completely understand; he had been afraid as well.

"I'd been down this road before, and…it had ended badly, so I pushed you away," Molly explained. "I had no idea you felt this way. I'm…I'm so sorry." Tears—sad tears this time, and William allowed a small moment of satisfaction at being able to tell the difference—filled her eyes and began falling down her face.

William reached up and stroked the tears away with his thumb. "You have nothing to be sorry about. I understand. And I will never— _ **never—**_ hurt you. I love you too damn much to."

The tears renewed themselves as she smiled. "I love you, too."

William smiled as he caressed her face with his hand before drawing her into his arms and resuming their kiss. Molly's arms wrapped around him as the kiss grew more passionate. The feel of Molly's lips coupled with the knowledge that he could now be with her for the rest of their lives…It was intoxicating. What could possibly be better than this?

"Ahem."

The two of them broke apart to see an elderly woman standing in the lobby behind Molly.

"Oh, sorry, Mrs. Bell," said Molly softly, a blush rising to her face. She stepped back into the building as William stepped back to allow Molly's neighbor through. "Have a nice day."

Mrs. Bell nodded as she passed by, heading for the street and hailing a cab.

William looked back at Molly, whose face was still lit up with the blush. They stared at each other for a moment before laughing together. As their laughter trailed off, Molly's gaze shifted towards the stairs and back to him.

"Would you like to come in?" she asked.

William very much wanted to, but the thought that he was once again ruining her life surfaced. "What about your conference?"

Molly stepped forward and took hold of his hand, smiling at him. "I couldn't care less."

William smiled as Molly pulled him into the building, closing the door behind them.

* * *

 **ATTENTION! I know this looks like an ending, but it's not. I have at least three more chapters to go.**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fourteen

 **Just a warning: at the end, it gets a little dicey. But keep reading! I promise it doesn't end sad!**

 **And also, I know it's not very saucy, but this is the naughtiest chapter I have ever written. I usually don't go anywhere near the whole…ahem, sexual situations. But it was just too important of a moment for William to skip over it.**

* * *

William followed Molly into her flat, looking around the living room. Even though he had been here many times before, it felt different now. It was somehow much more real, and he was once again struck by the difference between humanity and celestiality. How could the same thing be so different to two different beings? **This** was the gift He offered His creation in lieu of immortality: life. They— _ **we,**_ _William,_ _ **we**_ —were able to see the world in a way that angels never would be able to, as though an entire immortal existence were being crammed into a measly hundred years.

"Are you all right?" asked Molly.

William jolted himself out of his musings to see Molly looking at him in concern. He quickly nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. I…It's just all so different."

"Different?" asked Molly.

"I never knew—of course I wouldn't—but as an angel, everything was…dulled, as though we were in the world but never a part of it," William explained. He lowered his head, almost in embarrassment. "I've never known what it's like to feel."

Molly stared at him for a moment before reaching forward and taking hold of William's wrist. William watched her as she brought his hand up between them, palm up. Molly stared down at it as she brought her other hand up, index finger extended. She brought her finger down and gently stroked his palm from his wrist to the tip of his index finger. It was so light and soft that his hand twitched at the sensation.

"What is it like?" Molly asked, her eyes still on his hand as she touched it. "What is it like to feel for the first time?"

William exhaled as another caress touched his palm. "Exhilarating…"

Molly looked up at him, gazing into his eyes with such intensity. She slowly reached up and grasped hold of the lapels of his coat, easing it over his shoulders. William moved his arms back slightly, letting the coat fall to the floor. Molly then moved her hands to his scarf, loosening it and dropping it to the floor as well. All this time, their eyes never left each other.

As William's jacket joined the coat and scarf and Molly's fingers ghosted over the buttons on his shirt, she stared into his eyes, the question hanging between them.

"If it's too much for you…tell me to stop…" whispered Molly.

William gave a slight shake of his head. "Never."

Her breathing starting to accelerate, Molly unfastened the topmost button of his shirt, her eyes following her progress as she continued. As for William, the strangest sensation was filling him as he watched her. It felt as though something was tickling him from the inside out, which caused his stomach to lurch slightly. He quickly determined that it was a feeling he had heard humans describe on multiple occasions: butterflies, an indication of anxiety, excitement and nervousness.

As Molly unfastened the last button and let his shirt hang open, she slowly caressed her hands across his abdomen, effectively short-circuiting his brain and sending the analytical scientist into the further recesses of his mind palace. William let out a shaky breath at the new feeling.

Molly looked up at him, love and support shining in her eyes. "How does it feel?" Her hands slowly moved up towards his chest.

William exhaled again. "Soft…tender…"

Molly's hand came to rest over his frenetically beating heart, smiling as she looked down at it. "You're really here with me…"

William reached up and brushed his hand across her cheek, bringing her face up to look at his. "Always."

Molly pushed herself forward as William descended, their lips meeting in a hungry clash. Molly pushed the shirt from his shoulders, and William brought his arms back to encircle Molly, pushing her coat to the floor. Molly then deftly toed her shoes off, and William endeavored to follow her example. Unfortunately, his foot got stuck, causing him to lose his balance. Breaking off the kiss, he reached out for something to catch himself on, the closest thing being Molly. Molly let out a surprised yelp as the two of them toppled to the floor, William on his back and Molly on top of him. Molly lifted her head and looked down at him before beginning to laugh. William joined her as she brushed the curls out of his face.

"It seems you need to work on your coordination," laughed Molly.

"It would seem so," laughed William.

Molly's laughter died down. "Let me help." She eased off of him and moved down to his feet.

William pushed himself up onto his elbows.

Molly frowned down at the mess of knots on his shoes. "Well, no wonder you got stuck." She smiled giddily up at him. "This is a mess, William."

William tilted one of his feet. "Yes, well…Greg tried to teach me, but I believe I was only half paying attention." He looked up at her. "All I could think about was getting to you."

Molly's smile grew fond and loving. She reached forward and gently tugged one of the shoes off his foot and then the other. She put the shoes aside and turned towards him on her knees. Blushing slightly, she reached up and undid her blouse, removing it and setting it aside. She moved towards him and leaned over him, their faces agonizingly close but not touching.

"Bedroom?" Molly asked.

Flustered at having an undressed Molly on top of him, William could only nod. Molly eased back and took his hands, pulling them to their feet. Keeping hold of his hands, Molly led William out of the living room and down the hallway.

* * *

William opened his eyes, finding Molly's slumbering form in front of him. She lay on her stomach, her hair trailing over her shoulder and her arm draped over his stomach. William smiled and turned slightly towards her, smoothing his hand over her back. She was so soft, so warm. The touch of her, the feel of her; she had shown him pleasures he'd never known. It was…heaven.

Molly shifted under his ministrations, her arm tightening its hold on his torso. Molly stretched a little, her face scrunching up in the most gorgeous way. Her leg shifted over his own, brushing against him.

William gasped at the sensation. _Damn, that's sensitive. I need to learn to control it when in public._

Molly turned her face up as she opened her eyes, smiling at him. "Morning."

William smiled, glancing over at the darkened windows. "Mm, not really."

Molly's head lifted and turned towards the bedroom windows, where the last rays of sunlight were dying out. "Oh…" She smiled and dropped her head to his chest, giggling.

William laughed with her, running a hand over her head. "We must've slept for a long time."

"Mm-hmm," laughed Molly.

A phone began ringing from somewhere in the room, and Molly leaned over the side of the bed, fishing through her trouser pocket before pulling out her mobile. Settling back into William's side, she answered it. "Hello?"

Lying right next to him, William was able to hear the other side of the conversation.

"Oh, Molly, thank God!" a woman cried on the other line. "I've been calling you! Where are you?"

Molly winced. "Oh, Meena, I'm sorry. Something came up."

"Why didn't you call?" Meena demanded. "I've been so worried! You've been looking forward to TOM all year!"

"Meena, calm down. I know I've been wanting to go to the conference, but something better came up."

"Better than TOM?" Meena asked. "That doesn't sound like the Molly I know. What could you want to do more than TOM?"

Molly glanced up at William at Meena's unconscious insinuation, holding her hand over her mouth to stop her laughter. William had to hold back his laughs as well.

"And why haven't you been answering your phone?" Meena asked in the silence. "That's not like you either."

Molly finally fought off the giggles and removed her hand. "Well, my boyfriend and I have been quite…busy."

William's brows lifted at the term she had given him. _Boyfriend?_

"Boyfriend?" asked Meena. "You have a boyfriend?"

Molly looked up at William, smiling lovingly at him. "I do."

William smiled at her, pulling her closer to him.

"You're still with him, aren't you?" asked Meena coyly.

Molly blushed furiously. "Meena…"

"Enough said," said Meena. "I'm gone. Have fun." She abruptly hung up.

Molly shook her head as she dropped her phone on the bedside table. "Well, it's official. Another ten minutes, and all my friends will know about us."

William smiled as he hugged her close. "Boyfriend, huh?"

Molly smiled. "And you're not getting out of it, William…" She trailed off, frowning. "We really need to get you a last name."

"Mm, I'll get right to work on that." William pulled her down for a kiss, his hands on her back and in her hair.

Molly shifted further on top of him, breaking the kiss off. "And I'll get to work on you." She gave a coy smile as she began to kiss down his chest.

William grasped her shoulders and brought her to a stop. "No."

Molly looked up at him with a confused frown.

William swiftly pushed off the bed, causing Molly to let out a squeak of surprise, before switching their positions. He leaned over her on his hands. "Let me show **you** how much I love you."

Molly's smile returned as William descended, stealing her breath with a kiss.

* * *

Molly opened her eyes, smiling before turning her head towards the other side of the bed. Her smile faded when she only found rumpled blankets.

She lifted her head, looking around the room. "William?"

The room was empty. Molly threw the sheet back and stood, grabbing her robe from nearby. She stepped out of the bedroom, checking the bathroom across the hall before heading to the rest of the flat.

"William?" she called again.

There was no response. As she entered the living room, she spotted the front door open. Frowning at it, she looked down to see that William's shirt was missing. Grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around herself, she headed out into the main hallway. Gazing up and down the hall, she spotted the open stairwell door.

 _What is he up to?_ she wondered.

Molly reached the door, heading into the stairwell and looking up and down before deciding to head upwards. Reaching the next floor, she spotted the roof access door propped open. Heading up to it, she stepped out onto the roof, wrapping the blanket tighter around her in the morning chill. Squinting as her eyes adjusted to the early dawn light, she turned and saw a figure sitting on the edge of the roof, facing the sun as it broke over the horizon.

Molly smiled and walked over to him, standing next to him. William continued to stare into the dawn, having to squint more and more as it got brighter. Molly was able to easily spot the forlorn look on his face.

"I can't hear it…" he whispered.

Molly frowned in sympathy as she took a seat next to him.

"It was my favorite part of it all…" William whispered, his eyes closing as the light became too bright. He took a breath as a small smile appeared. "But now I can feel it. It almost makes up for it."

"Almost?" asked Molly.

William looked over at her. "But you more than make up for it." He smiled at her.

Molly smiled as she leaned her head against his shoulder. A moment later, she pulled back, looking down at his thin shirt and trousers; he was shaking. "Oh, my God! You're freezing!" She unfurled the blanket and curled up next to him, wrapping them both up. "Why didn't you take your coat?"

"I'm not used to feeling the cold," William responded, grasping at the blanket.

Molly wrapped her arms around him, hissing at the feel of his skin. "Oh! You're like ice. Come on." She pulled the two of them to their feet. "Let's warm you up."

"Mm, what did you have in mind?" said William, shivering.

Molly rolled her eyes. "Hold on there, Ace. We need to get you warmed up before _that_."

Molly ushered them back into her flat, placing him in an armchair in the living room. "Get those off. I'll start a fire." She set about fussing around in the grate, able to finally get a flame going. She turned towards him to get him up.

William had succeeded in removing the trousers, but the shirt buttons were proving too much for his numb fingers. Molly knelt in front of the chair, undoing the buttons quickly and then pulling him from the chair. She laid him down on the rug in front of the fireplace, throwing the blanket over him. She then removed her robe and got under the blanket herself, wrapping her limbs around him and pressing up against his back.

"Ooh!" Molly flinched as his cold skin met hers. "Why didn't you come in when you got cold?"

"I d-didn't want to m-miss the s-sunrise," William shivered.

"Well, take your coat next time," Molly told him.

"Oh, most d-definitely," said William adamantly. "I'm n-never going anywhere without it again."

Molly chuckled as she pulled herself closer. "Rest, love. Rest."

William held onto her arms as her warmth began to seep into him.

* * *

After warming up—and another round of passionate love-making in front of the fire—Molly deemed it necessary for the two of them to get dressed and eat.

"Oh, why?" groaned William as he held onto her in front of the fire.

"Because we have done nothing but have sex for a day and a half," Molly told him.

William frowned, worried that he hadn't gotten it right. "Do you not like it?"

"Oh, William, I love it," Molly reassured him. "It's perfect."

William smiled in relief.

"But we haven't eaten in over a day," Molly told him. "And I don't fancy doing that naked."

"Why not?" asked William. "We've spent nearly all this time naked."

"Because I need to go get a surprise for you," said Molly. "Not to mention food. I don't have much left, and if we're going to spend an extended weekend locked up in here, we're going to need food."

William's brows rose in interest. "All weekend, hmm?"

Molly smiled at him. "Only if you go take a shower while I get it all ready."

William smiled and leaned closer to give her a kiss. The two of them got to their feet, leaving the blanket on the living room floor. Molly led him to the bathroom and pulled out a clean towel.

"All right, I'll put a change of clothes in here for you," Molly told him. "I think I have some from when my cousin stayed over. I'll see you in a bit." She began to leave the room.

"Uh, Molly…" said William, turning towards her.

Molly stopped and looked at him.

"What do I do…once I'm in there?" asked William in embarrassment.

Molly frowned. "In the shower?" She stepped closer. "I thought you've been watching over humanity since…forever."

William gave her an exasperated look. "Watch _over_ humanity, not _watch_ them. I do have standards."

Molly gave a sigh. "Well, that's good to know." She immediately blanched, her eyes going wide. "Not that you're some kind of—I-I didn't mean to imply that—"

William cut her off with a kiss, pulling back enough for her to see his smile. "I love when you ramble."

Molly blushed as she looked over at the shower and back to him. "It's so strange telling a grown man how to bathe yourself."

William scoffed. "Oh, come now, Molly. I think **everyone** would agree that I'm an overgrown toddler." He smiled at her.

Molly chuckled as she nodded before moving over to the shower, opening the transparent door and gesturing to the shelves of products inside. "Use the soap to wash your skin. Then get your hair wet and clean it with the shampoo. Make you work it in so that it reaches your scalp. Then rinse it out. And make sure it's all out. Dried bits of shampoo make your hair feel all gross. Oh, and make sure to use the white bottle; it's unscented."

William frowned. "Why does it matter?"

Molly gave him a look. "Well, no man wants to walk around smelling like 'cherry blossoms.'"

William stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her and taking an appreciative whiff of her hair. "I happen to like it."

"That's only because _my_ hair smells like it. Trust me on this, William."

William nodded, letting her go. "Very well."

Molly reached over to point at the tap. "Now, you'll want to—"

"Molly, please," said William with an affronted look on his face, "I think I can determine how to operate a tap."

Molly smiled in amusement. "Very well." She stepped towards the door and looked back at him. "Call if you need anything." She closed the door behind her and made her way to the bedroom, pulling on her robe.

She began digging through her closet for the clothes her cousin Robert left behind, listening as the water in the shower came on. She paused a moment and waited for it. William let out a yelp at the hot water, and Molly smiled in amusement.

 _He really should've taken my advice._

* * *

Now dressed in a pair of jeans, short-sleeve polo shirt and his black dress shoes, William stood at the doorway as Molly pulled on her coat.

"You look good," Molly told him, eyeing his attire.

"I look ridiculous," William muttered. "Why does your cousin dress like this?"

"A lot of people dress like this," Molly told him, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck. "It's only because you're used to all that." She nodded at the small pile of black clothes in the corner, waiting to be washed. "You can go back to your black suit, but it needs to be washed first. It hasn't been cleaned in thousands of years."

"May I point it out that it never _needed_ cleaning?"

"Yeah, but now there's blood and dirt and stuff, so it's getting cleaned." Molly pushed up on her toes and kissed him. "Feel free to try out the telly or my laptop; I'm sure you'll have no problem figuring out the password. I'll be back in a few." She stepped out of the flat, heading out onto the street.

After getting the few groceries she needed and picking up the gift for William, she was heading back towards her flat, basking in the beautiful early winter day. Nothing could bother her today, or likely ever again.

 _So, this is what it's like to be in love._

She felt like she was walking on the clouds…or…Molly smiled as she laughed a little.

" _I'm walking on sunshine…whoa!"_

She began tapping her fingers on the bag of groceries as she came to a stop at the street corner two blocks from her building.

" _I'm walking on sunshine…whoa!"_

She glanced up at the traffic light, waiting for it to tell her to go.

" _I'm walking on sunshine…whoa!"_

The light changed, letting her cross, and she stepped down into the street, heading for the other side of the pavement.

" _And don't it feel—"_

"Look out!"

Molly spun towards the sound of squealing tires, her eyes widening at the sight of a taxi cab looming towards her.

William pressed one of the channel buttons, flipping to the next one. It amazed him what humans considered entertaining. Most of it was pointless dribble, and only one thing had captured his interest so far: some medical drama called _House_. The main character seemed very familiar to him, and the brainwork was intriguing.

Quickly becoming bored with the show selections, William switched the television off and glanced around, spotting Molly's laptop.

 _Oh, the mystery of her password. Something fun to do._

He loved that about Molly, that she knew he would find that fun, no matter how short it lasted.

A distant horn sounded, followed by brakes and tires screaming. Several cries drifted in through the window, and William turned his head towards it, feeling a great weight like a stone in his gut. He didn't know how, but somehow, he knew.

William grabbed his coat as he tore out of the flat and down the stairs, barging out of the building. Throwing his coat on haphazardly as he ran, he followed the noise down the road, where a crowd had gathered two blocks away.

 _No…_

His feet pounded the pavement as he approached, able to see that the crowd was huddled in the middle of the street, staring down at the pavement. Several had tears in their eyes, one with a phone to his ear, and a couple bent over something in the middle of the circle of onlookers.

William's heart froze. _No, no, no!_

He reached the edge of the crowd, pushing through it. "Move. Move! Molly!"

People looked his way as he pushed through to the middle and came to a stop, staring down at the person lying in the street, shopping bags scattered everywhere.

Molly lay on the pavement, one leg stuck out at an awkward angle and arms sprawled out on either side. Blood had seeped into her trousers just below the knee, showing that it was an open break. A laceration split the skin of the left cheek from ear to mouth, blood slowly leaking down her jaw. A colorful bruise was already appearing on her forehead, all blue and purple. Her eyes were closed.

"Molly!" William shouted, launching himself forward.

The two people kneeling next to her wisely got up as he fell to his knees next to her, taking her hand in his own.

"Molly!" he repeated, tears filling his eyes.

Molly's eyes slowly opened and looked up at him.

"Oh, thank God!" exclaimed William, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on her head. "I thought you were…" He trailed off, unable to voice it.

Molly's response was slow— _Too slow,_ William realized—as she smiled. "William…"

"I'm here," he told her, grasping her hand tight as he stroked the hair out of her face. "I'm right here."

"I'm cold…" came Molly's small voice.

William immediately stripped himself of his coat, throwing it over her body. "Here."

"I'm scared," she told him shakily.

"You're going to be okay," William told her, trying to give her a reassuring smile. "You're going to be—"

"I don't want to die," she said, tears in her eyes.

William's heart lurched as he recognized the symptoms. "You won't." Tears fell down his face as he fought them back. "You're going to be fine."

Molly's eyes drifted off to the side, looking over his shoulder. "Who…who is that?"

William's hands moved to either side of her face, trying to get her to look back at him. "No, no, Molly! Don't look at them! Stay with me!" He then directed his thoughts at the unseen angel. _Don't you dare take her!_

Something akin to wonder filled Molly's face. "Is this what it's like?"

 _No…_ William thought as he bowed his head and succumbed to the inevitable. He looked up at her, tears streaming down his face as he grasped her hand. "Yes, this is what it's like."

Molly's eyes remained fixed above his shoulder. "So bright…"

William tightened his hold on her hand, wishing he could keep her here.

Molly's eyes moved back to his, a smile on her face. "I love you."

William's tears blurred his vision of her, and he blinked to clear them. He wanted to see her in her last moments. "I love you."

Molly gently squeezed his hand for a moment before the smile faded and her gaze grew distant. Her grip eased as her chest stopped rising.

William let out a sob as he nearly collapsed on top of her, gathering her up in his arms and holding her close. The tears felt like they would never stop as he cried out her name over and over again.

 _No…It couldn't have ended like this._

He had given up one hell just to fall into another.

 _Why? WHY?_

An intake of breath sounded in his ear as Molly twitched in his arms. William quickly pulled away to look at her. Molly was looking at him with a smile and a slight frown.

"Molly!" William exclaimed, pulling her back into his arms as he laughed in delight. "How…"

"He said you owed him," Molly said in his ear, her arms coming up to hug him.

William frowned and pulled back, giving her a questioning look. "What?"

"He said 'You owe me, William,'" Molly told him.

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he smiled at her, surprise warring with gratitude. "Well…you said you wanted to meet my brother."

Surprise flickered across her face as she leaned forward, wrapping her arms about him.

William held Molly close as the ambulance pulled up nearby. "Thank you…brother mine."

* * *

 **I thought about ending it at William grieving over Molly (the perfect cliff-hanger), but I didn't want reviews saying I lied that it wouldn't end like the movie. And it was just too cruel.**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Fifteen

It was a miracle. At least, that's what the doctors said. Molly's body had been battered by the taxi, and she had died from her injuries. And yet, no such internal injuries existed. She only suffered from some superficial cuts and bruises and the open fracture of her left tibia. She was considered lucky; if she hadn't "tried to get out of the way," she would have died for sure. Everyone believed she had been able to avoid major injury because of her quick reflexes. And William was content to let them think that.

Molly was currently sleeping in the hospital bed, her left foot, lower leg and knee casted. An IV saline and morphine drip was hooked up to her hand, and they had stitched the cut on her cheek. William sat in the chair next to her bed, his coat thrown over the back of it. He had been there ever since they had wheeled Molly in after getting her stitched and casted, and he was willing to wait there as long as he could.

The door of the room suddenly opened, admitting John in. William looked up at him, surprisingly relieved to see a familiar face during all this.

"Hey," said John, closing the door and stepping up to the other side of the bed. "How is she?"

"Broken leg, few bumps and bruises," William explained. "She'll be fine."

John let out a relieved sigh. "Well, close call, huh?" He chuckled a little.

William stared over at Molly, a haunted look on his face. "Too close…"

John frowned at his friend. "William?"

William took a breath and looked up at him. "She died, John."

John's eyes widened. "What?"

"Her injuries were too severe, and she died." William looked up at him sadly. "She died in my arms, John."

The tears began to come again, which puzzled him. Why would he be crying again? Molly was perfectly fine.

John frowned over at Molly. "Then how…"

"Michael brought her back," William explained. "I didn't even know we could do that. Probably just one of my brother's perks…" He trailed off, his mind working through the problem.

John took his own seat across from him. "Well, thank him for me."

"I assure you I already have," William told him.

John looked away from Molly and frowned as he looked him up and down. "You changed your clothes?"

William frowned as he glanced down at the borrowed clothing.

"I didn't know you could do that," John continued.

William looked back at him, understanding. "Greg didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" asked John.

William sighed and brushed the hair away from his face, revealing the cut and bruise there.

John's eyes widened n concern before freezing in confusion. "You can't bleed…"

"No, I can't," smiled William, waiting for John to connect the pieces.

John's jaw dropped. "How?"

William leaned back in his seat, looking John right in the eye. "I jumped off the roof of Bart's Hospital." He gave John a cheeky smile.

John stared at him. "You jumped off the roof…and became human."

"Yes."

John stared at him a moment longer. "When was this?"

"Less than two days ago," William answered.

John's brows rose. "Two days? Where have you been?"

William gave a little shrug before glancing at Molly and back to John.

John nodded awkwardly. "Oh…" He looked over at Molly briefly before moving his gaze back to William. "So, you two are…"

"Dating, yes," said William.

"Oh…" said John. "Well, congratulations, on both parts."

"Thank you."

"What are you gonna do?" asked John. "About an identity, a home, all of that."

"We were discussing that same thing," said Molly.

William quickly leaned forward, taking her hand in his and placing the other on the side of her head. "Hey…How do you feel?"

"Better," said Molly, glancing down at the IV in her hand. "Probably the morphine."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts," John told her. "They'll probably take you off of it soon."

"Ooh, too bad," said Molly, causing them all to laugh. "So, what are you gonna do? Still gonna go with William Scott?"

William removed his hand from her face, but still held on to her hand with his other. "Actually, I've been thinking about that, and I've come up with an identity that I think would be quite appropriate."

"Yeah?" said John in interest.

William gave them a smile. "Sherlock Holmes."

The two of them stared at him in shock.

"You can't be serious," said John.

William shrugged. "Why not? It's perfect."

John's gaze moved down to the floor as he appeared to contemplate his friend's decision.

"William, you can't just…" began Molly, trying to find the words to explain. "Sherlock Holmes is the most famous detective in all of literature. What are you going to tell people? That it's all a coincidence?"

William gave a shrug, not having really through it through.

"Well…" said John.

They both looked up at him.

John was still staring at the floor, a resolved and somehow peaceful expression on his face. He looked up at William. "I could probably tell people that Sherlock and I are old friends, and the stories are about our adventures together."

William frowned. "And people will believe you because…"

John gave a resigned sigh. "Because I wrote them."

Molly and William could only stare at him in shock.

John glanced down at the floor as he leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. "When the whole thing started, I had just come back from Afghanistan, and I didn't want the attention, so I chose a pseudonym: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle." He finally looked up at them.

The two of them were still staring in shock, William trying to figure out how he hadn't seen it before.

"I mean, come on, Sherlock's colleague is John Watson, an army doctor," John elaborated when they didn't reply. "My therapist wanted me to keep a journal about everything that happens to me, so I inserted myself into these stories." He gave a shrug. "And it helped. I…" he smiled, "found a friend in Sherlock Holmes."

William shook his head, trying to think. _Why didn't I_ _ **know**_ _?_

Then again, hadn't he known? Hadn't he himself concluded that he hadn't let himself figure it out in order to protect John? But it was all there: John's mysterious finances, the looks he gave William when he did something particularly Sherlock-like (like he was getting a brief glimpse of an old friend), John's thoughts of using Sherlock Holmes against him, his uneasiness when William talked of hunting the author down, John's primitive yet somewhat skilled knowledge of deduction…

"All this time…I never knew…" said Molly quietly.

When I saw how popular Sherlock became, I was reluctant to announce anything, but lately…I've been thinking about telling people," John admitted.

"So, how did you come up with this?" asked Molly.

"Well, I fashioned Sherlock Holmes after someone I knew when I was a boy," said John.

William's interest piqued at that.

"Really?" asked Molly. "So, there's a real live Sherlock Holmes out there?"

John smiled. "Yeah. My family was on vacation in Epping Forest."

William's eyes widened. _He does remember…_

"I came across him one day," John went on. "We spent all week cataloguing insect species and deducing animal trails." He chuckled fondly. "We even played pirates once."

William gave a chuckle at the memory, and John glanced at him, frowning a little.

"So, a grown man hung out in the forest with a little boy?" asked Molly suspiciously.

Both William and John looked sharply over at her implication.

"No, no, he—" began John. "It wasn't like that. I mean, sure, he was an adult, but…" his gaze grew distant and nostalgic, "I don't know. There was just something about him."

"So…" began William, "you came up with the character of Sherlock Holmes because of this person you met when you were a boy?"

"Yes," said John, looking back at him.

William gave him a wide smile, causing John to frown. "Then it's the perfect cover. I **am** Sherlock Holmes."

John's frown deepened. "What?"

"John, that man you met when you were younger…that was me," said William.

John slowly shook his head. "No, that's not…" He looked over at the other side of the room, his thoughts lost in his memories.

"I recognized you the moment I first met you, but I couldn't very well say I was the same man you knew when you were six," William explained.

John looked back at him. "But I thought we could only see angels when they wanted us to see them."

"That only applies to adults," said William. "Children are more open-minded." He smirked. "Where do you think imaginary friends come from?"

John stared for a moment before laughing. "My God…You really are Sherlock Holmes." He shook his head in amazement.

"So, that's what you're gonna go with?" asked Molly.

John shrugged. "Why not? Sherlock's friend is John Watson, they live at 221B Baker Street, and they solve crimes with Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard."

"And you think people will believe this?" said Molly. "You don't even have proof that you've been solving all those cases."

"I'll tell them I changed the client names for their protection," said John.

"What about the Yard?" suggested Molly. "Sherlock worked often with them. You don't have anyone to corroborate your story."

"I imagine Greg'll do it," said William.

John frowned. "Why? I mean, yeah, he knows about you, but why would he risk his job like that?"

"Because he knows how hard it is to build a life out of nothing," William told them. He smiled at their confused looks before plowing on. "Greg used to be an angel."

Their eyes widened with a simultaneous, "What?"

William shrugged. "It's true."

John shook his head. "It's like I don't know anyone anymore."

"Sorry," said William. "It wasn't my place to tell you."

John waved him off. "Oh, whatever." He dropped his hand back into his lap. "Any other ex-angels we should know about?"

William shook his head. "No, just us." He frowned a moment. "I just want to go back to the whole 'living at Baker Street' thing." He looked nervously up at John. "Was that an invitation? Or…were you just offering up comparisons?"

John smiled warmly. "Why not? Can't very well leave my best friend out in the cold."

William froze, staring at him. "You mean…I'm your…best friend?"

John's smile grew as he nodded. "Of course you're my best friend."

William's gaze lowered towards Molly's bed. "I've always wanted a best friend…" He smiled up at John.

"All right, enough of this bromance," Molly interjected.

John rolled his eyes at the statement, but William frowned, looking at her.

"Enough of what?" he asked.

John shook his head. "I'll explain later."

"So, this is all fine and everything, but it's going to be difficult getting used to calling you 'Sherlock,'" said Molly.

"Well, don't," said William. "Keep calling me William until you get used to it."

"And how would we explain that?" asked John.

William shrugged. "That it's my birth name, but I go by Sherlock."

"William Sherlock Holmes?" said Molly, wincing a little. "Now, that sounds like we made the whole thing up."

"How about William Sherlock Scott Holmes?" suggested John. "With Sherlock's family history, his parents seem like the type to give him two middle names."

"That works," said Molly.

"And with how popular Sherlock is, you won't have a problem starting up this detective thing," said John. "You'll have cases by the bucketload."

"Good," said William. "I'd hate to be bored."

"Well, thank you," said Molly.

William looked at her. "I meant while you're at work." He leaned forward and gave her a kiss. "You could never bore me."

Molly smiled. "Okay, that's better."

William leaned back and looked at John. "You're sure this detective work won't interfere with your residency at Bart's?"

John blinked in surprise. "You want me to be your partner?"

"Of course," said William. "What would Holmes be without Watson?"

John smiled widely. "Brilliant!"

William nodded. "Well, at least you'll have purpose in life again…something to live for."

John frowned, glancing at Molly and back at William. "Sorry?"

"You know…" William gave him a look.

John just continued to stare at him.

William fidgeted a little. "I know you don't like to talk about it."

"About what?" asked John.

William frowned a little, gesturing to his arm. "Your wrist."

John glanced down at his right wrist before pulling the sleeve back and raising it to show them. "What, this?"

William's frown deepened at the complete lack of shame or anguish John displayed as he blatantly showed off the scar. Why would John not care if other people knew…

 _Ah…_

"You didn't try to kill yourself, did you?" said William.

John's eyes widened as he laughed a little. "What?"

"When I saw the scar, I assumed that was how Greg became your friend," William quickly explained. "He would have been the officer to respond to the call, and he kept visiting you and gave you a reason to keep going."

John fought through his laughter. "William, I was mugged!"

The pieces fell into place, and William closed his eyes in realization.

"Or, well, he tried to mug me," said John. "He had a knife, and I fought back, and that's how that happened." He gestured to the scar.

"And Greg would have visited you because he was impressed with your combat skills," William finished for him. He shook his head as he gritted his teeth. "Stupid! There's always something…"

It didn't make sense. William had seen that in him. He had seen what course John's life could have taken if someone hadn't intervened. So, why hadn't he? Is it possible that William couldn't read people as well as he thought he could?

"Besides, I was a soldier, and I have my own gun," John went on. "If I were ever going to kill myself—" He abruptly stopped, his face falling as he realized he had said too much. His expression turned painful as he lowered his head.

So, William **had** read him correctly. John **had** been that lost at some point.

"How close?" William asked softly.

John stared at the floor for the longest time that William thought he wasn't going to respond.

John raised his head and looked at them. "Barrel to my head, finger on the trigger…"

Molly's eyes narrowed in sympathy. Clearly, she had never known about this.

"But then…" A sudden smile appeared on John's face, "there was just this sudden clarity…and out of nowhere, I thought of you." He looked at William.

William frowned in confusion, about to say something.

"From when I was a boy," John clarified. "And this idea sprung into my head. My therapist wanted me to write, so…" he shrugged, "I would write. The stories weren't true, but there was one thing about them that I never made up." He looked hard at William. "You and me." He smiled. "Even to this day, whenever it's too much or I'm just bored, I think, 'If Sherlock were here right now, what would he do?'" He chuckled. "And your reactions have never failed to amuse me."

William laughed a little.

"Greg wasn't the one that saved me after I came back home," John finished, his face sobering. "You were."

William just stared at him, feeling the weight of those words.

"How touching."

Molly let out a yelp as John jumped to his feet at the voice of the man now standing behind William. Seeing that the man was dressed in the typical black, John quickly realized that he must be an angel. Molly, of course, recognized him immediately.

"It's all right," William quickly assured them. "It's my brother Michael."

John looked back at the angel, a smirk on his face. "So, this is the mysterious, 'works-for-the-government' big brother."

"Well, it's not that far off," said William. "Technically, he works for _our_ government."

Molly frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I am Michael, the archangel," replied Michael.

John and Molly stared at him for a moment.

"Archangel?" said John. He looked at William. "Your brother…is an _archangel_?"

"Yep," said William, popping the p at the end.

"Does that mean you were one, too?" asked Molly.

"Only for about a day," William told them. "Then they demoted me. I was a problem child."

John laughed. "I'll bet."

"I believe it was the experimenting with his own wings that did it," said Michael disapprovingly.

John nodded as he looked down at William. "Yeah, you would do that."

"Wings, hmm?" asked Molly.

"They were horrid, overbearing things," muttered William disdainfully. "Good riddance."

"Speak for yourself," said Michael evenly as he shifted his shoulders.

John shook his head in amazement. "I gotta say, from everything William told me about you, you were just as I imagined you'd be."

Michael looked at William with a sarcastic smile. "Been bragging about me, have we?"

John chuckled. "On the contrary, he had plenty to say about your over-protectiveness and uptight rule-keeping. At my age, I didn't understand it much, but it gave me plenty of ammunition for the Sherlock and Mycroft sibling rivalry in my stories."

Michael's eyes brightened in realization. "Ah, so this is your little 'playmate.' How fortunate that you two should meet again."

William's eyes narrowed at his brother. "Yes. How very fortunate indeed."

Michael rolled his eyes. "I assure you, William, I had nothing to do with your reunion. You accomplished this all on your own."

"Yes, but you made sure it stayed that way," said William, his gaze traveling back to Molly and his hand reaching for hers. "In more ways than one."

Molly smiled as William took her hand.

"Why would you do that for me?" asked William, looking back at Michael with a questioning frown. "After all your talk of following our orders, why would you go against them to bring her back?"

Michael didn't answer for a moment, but then stated, "Repayment, brother dear."

William frowned. "For what?"

"For ridding me of the responsibility of watching your every move," Michael answered. "One can only take so much of your behavior after six thousand years."

William smiled slightly as he read the silent affection in Michael's words. "How much did they punish you?"

"A hundred years of reaping duty," Michael replied.

"Reaping?" asked John.

William glanced at him. "Collecting the dead."

John nodded in acknowledgement.

William looked back at Michael. "A hundred years, hmm?"

"Yes," muttered Michael. "The noise, the _people_ …If I didn't love my job so much, I just might you."

"Mm…" muttered William, appearing to think it through, "it wouldn't suit you."

Michael gave the briefest of smiles. "I wish you many long, happy years, brothers mine. I'll be back for you in fifty years, give or take."

The door of the room opened, and Greg poked his head in.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," said Greg, stepping into the room. "I just wanted to check—" He came to a stop as he spotted the archangel, his expression morphing to one of surprise and reverence. "Michael."

Michael nodded at him. "Gregory."

"Wait, you know each other?" asked John.

"Of course," replied Greg. "Every angel knows Michael." His eyes widened as he paled and looked over at Molly and John.

"It's all right," said Molly. "William already told us."

"Oh," said Greg, shifting nervously on his feet. "Well, erm…I wanted to tell you —"

"It's fine, Greg," said John. "I honestly don't care."

Molly shook her head, sharing the sentiment.

"Oh…" muttered Greg. "Good…"

"But there is something we need to discuss with you," said William.

"And that is where I take my leave," said Michael, nodding at everyone in turn. "John, Molly, Gregory." He looked down at William, placing a hand on his shoulder. The next second, he was gone.

Greg sta down in a chair next to William. "All right, what did we need to talk about?"

"Sherlock Holmes," said John.

* * *

 **I think that was the longest scene in a story I've ever written. Okay, two more chapters to go!**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Sixteen

John and William sat in a back room of the meeting hall, each of them tense and nervous. It had been a week since Molly had been in her car accident, and during that time, the three of them—along with Greg—had worked ceaselessly to give life to Sherlock Holmes. Greg had forged case reports, John had made room at Baker Street, and Molly…well, Molly mainly put in ideas; William had insisted she rest her leg. There were several times that John wished William **did** have a brother in the government; it would make this process a whole lot easier.

Thankfully, William's centuries of knowledge made up for it. He was an expert at disguises, false identities and forged documents. In fact, their first day of work, William had come back with a personal identity card for William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

"Where did you get that so quickly?" asked John in surprise from his seat at the living room table of 221B. He yanked the card from William's hand to examine it.

"A magician never reveals his secrets, John," said William smugly.

John rolled his eyes. "Well, hopefully, you can use some of that magic over here. I'm having trouble arranging fake evidence of a trip to Norfolk for the case in _The Adventure of the Dancing Men_. Help a fellow out?"

By the end of the week, they had collectively worked out every bit of evidence they would need to corroborate their story and give William an identity. They had also worked on his name.

"Will—I mean, Sherlock!" said Molly as he walked into her hospital room to help her check out.

"Molly, I told you, you can still call me William," he told her, placing the bag with her change of clothes on the end of the bed.

"I know, but if it's going to be believable that you go by your middle name instead of your first, then your friends should be calling you by that name," Molly explained. "We did set up the full name so it could be explain if we slip, but—"

William silenced her with a kiss. "Has anyone ever told you that you worry too much?"

Molly smiled at him as she relaxed.

"That's actually very smart, Molly," William told her. "I will tell John and Greg. Now, let's get you out of that gown."

Molly gave him a look.

"I did not mean it like that, although I would not be adverse to the idea," said William. "You'll need help changing with that leg."

So, they had strived to only call him "Sherlock" in order to get used to it. And it went very well. There were hardly ever any slip-ups anymore.

The third thing they worked on was William's possessions. Due to John's accumulated book sales income, they were able to purchase belongings for William at Baker Street: a bed, a dresser, clothes, toiletries, a mobile phone, a laptop, a violin, and other such items. John had even presented a gift to William the morning of the press release: a complete set of laboratory equipment.

William stared in shock at the microscope, Petri dishes, test tubes, slides, Bunsen burner— "John…this is…"

John smiled. "I thought it the best way to keep away the boredom, for the most part."

William had no words, this not really being his area of expertise. Instead, he had simply stepped up to him and given him a brief hug.

"You're welcome," said John as William let him go. "Well…shall we?"

An hour later, and they had found themselves here, waiting for the press release to start. William looked every inch the part of Sherlock Holmes, complete with his coat and scarf from his angelic existence. Molly sat in the chair next to him, holding his hand.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Greg asked John as he paced the room. "You're about to become the most famous man in Britain."

"Well, second famous," said John from his seat, glancing at William.

William's mouth twitched into a smile at the corner.

John glanced up at Greg before looking at William. "As long as you're sure."

William looked over at him. "I'm sure." He glanced at Molly. "As long as—"

"I told you before, Sherlock," said Molly warmly. "I don't care about the tabloids. Let them print whatever they want."

"Then we're all in agreement," said Greg with a smile. "In that case…" he stepped forward, proffering a moderate-sized, gift-wrapped lump, "here."

William frowned as he accepted it. "What's this for?"

"Let's just say, the Yard appreciates all of your work over the years," said Greg with a smirk.

William smiled a little as he ripped open the paper, pulling out the gift. He laughed a little as he stared at the object that had begun to grow synonymous with the name Sherlock Holmes, despite John never having written it into the stores: a deerstalker.

William glanced up at Greg. "I hope you don't expect me to wear this out there."

"I don't," said Greg.

William glanced down at it, smiling fondly before pocketing it in his coat. "Thank you."

"Inspector Lestrade."

They looked up to see the woman from John's publishing office in the doorway.

"We're ready to begin," she told them.

John glanced over at William. "Ready?"

William nodded. "Time to go and be Sherlock Holmes."

John smiled as he stood and headed for the door. William helped Molly to stand as Greg handed her the crutches. Molly made her way out the door, and the four of them followed the publisher representative down the hall. They rounded the corner to the door that would take them into the conference room and waited while the representative led Molly down the hall to seat her in the audience.

"Thank you for doing this," William spoke up.

John and Greg looked over at him.

William looked over at John. "I know you value your privacy."

"Hey, I was thinking of doing it anyway, remember?" John assured him. "Besides, I was starting to get bored."

William smiled as he looked over at Greg. "And your job—"

"—will be fine," Greg interrupted. "I worked hard to make my way up from nothing. They respect me too much to fire me."

William nodded gratefully, preparing himself for what was to come. This was it; no turning back. Once that door was open, their fate was set. And William couldn't be more excited.

The rep came back to the hall, approaching the door and looking back at them.

William gestured towards the door. "After you, my dear Watson."

John smiled and chuckled a little. "Thank you, Holmes." He nodded at the woman, who opened the door and walked through it.

A cacophony of voices and camera flashes burst into life as the representative walked into the room, followed by John and then William and then Greg. She approached the small podium as the three men took the seats behind her. William glanced all around the room, which was teeming with mostly reporters but also many eager civilians. Apparently, Sherlock Holmes **was** as popular as John and Molly claimed him to be. William sought out Molly's reassuring presence in the first row, smiling at her as she smiled back.

The representative let the hundreds of questions continue while she arranged her paperwork before she raised her hand for silence. It took a moment, but everyone eventually calmed down.

"As you're aware, we have called this conference to deliver news about the Sherlock Holmes franchise," the rep began. "We were contacted two days ago by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, requesting a press conference in order to reveal his true identity."

A hurricane of noise burst through the room at that, which she let carry on until it died down again. Many of the reporters were now focusing on William, John and Greg, trying to figure out which one he might be.

The rep held up a sealed document envelope. "I carry Sir Doyle's contract, and I can assure you that this man is indeed the author of the Sherlock Holmes stories." She lowered the envelope. "I will now turn the floor over to him." She took the envelope in her hands and took her seat next to John.

John took a moment to ready himself as the crowd held their breath in anticipation. He glanced at William, who gave him an encouraging smile, and then got to his feet.

Cameras went mad and reporters fired question after question as John approached the podium, placing his hands on it. He raised a hand, and the crowd grew silent.

John lowered his hand. "You all know me as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It was a pseudonym I chose to maintain my anonymity. My real name is Dr. John Watson." He raised a hand before the noise could start again. "And, yes, I based the character of Dr. Watson on myself, and for a very good reason."

John paused a moment before plowing on. "I did not just call this press conference to reveal my identity to the public. I called it on request by a very good friend." He turned and gestured towards William.

William got to his feet and joined John at the podium.

John looked back at the audience. "He has told me of his desire to announce his identity as well. He was a very integral part of my writing, and I couldn't have done it without him."

Everyone was practically leaning forward in their seats.

John let the hammer fall. "This is Sherlock Holmes."

The explosion of noise dwarfed everything that came before it. There was hardly a break in the camera flashes.

"Yes…" said John in a loud voice to calm them down, "yes, the stories are all true. Sherlock and I have known each other for years, and we've been solving cases just as long. The only thing I changed for the stories was the time period and the details of the cases to protect our clients."

One reporter stood from his seat, eager to be heard. "If you've been solving all these cases, where's the proof?"

John turned to face the seats behind him. "Greg…"

Greg stood and took John's place at the podium. "As the public knows, I am Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard, and, yes, I am the Lestrade from the stories. Mr. Holmes has worked with us for a number of years and has been extremely helpful on the more difficult cases." He stepped back from the podium and sat back down.

Another reporter stood. "How do we know you're really _the_ Sherlock Holmes?"

William stepped forward towards the microphone on the podium. "Because I am. Surely if the author is telling you I'm real, that should be enough."

"But how do we know?" he asked.

William gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "A demonstration, yes?"

The crowd became more eager as William's eyes roamed over them. Picking out a few in particular, he pointed at them as he announced his deductions.

William pointed at a female reporter in the center of the crowd. "Divorced—" his finger moved to a man at the end of a row as he spoke quickly, "recently quit smoking—" his finger moved to a young woman in the first row, " _Titanic_ enthusiast—" he moved on to a male reporter in the middle of the crowd, "just bankrupted himself on a new car—" and he pointed at a woman close to the front before lowering his hand, "serial adulterer."

The crowd glanced at each person that had been pointed out before looking back at William.

John leaned towards him a little. "You might want to tell them how you got each of those."

William huffed out a sigh before gesturing to the divorced reporter and speaking very quickly. "The lighter skin at the base of her left ring finger suggests that she wore a wedding ring there for many years. If she was a widow, she'd be wearing it on a chain around her neck—people do; sentiment—but she's not. Therefore, divorced."

He gestured to the ex-smoker. "Nicotine stains on the fingertips, very anxious and jittery—aching for a smoke—and he keeps scratching at his left inner arm, where he's put a nicotine patch."

He pointed to the _Titanic_ enthusiast. "Two pins on her shirt, one with the numbers, four dash fifteen dash twelve, and the phrase 'We will never forget.' Obviously, a tragedy happened on this date. Coupled with the second pin, which contains the emblem for the White Star Line, this is obviously referring to a disaster at sea. So, which ship came to ruin on April 15 in a year ending in twelve? The _Titanic_."

He gestured to bankrupt car owner. "The keychain sticking out of his pocket is printed with the logo for the new Mazda3. That model only came out last month, and an expensive one at that. But based on the wardrobe he's wearing, it isn't a usual habit of his to spend this much money. Most likely, he just spent his entire life savings on that car."

He then moved on to the adulterous woman in the front. "Her wedding ring is filthy. However, the rest of her jewelry is regularly cleaned. State of her marriage right there. She's been absently moving it up and down her finger this whole time. If it stayed on all the time, she wouldn't give it a second thought. Her unconscious fiddling with it suggests that it's regularly removed. Serial adulterer."

William then pointed towards one side of the audience. "And—" He stopped himself, lowering his hand. "Oh…" He smirked to himself and then looked at the rest of the audience. "One more, yes?" He hopped down from the stage.

The reporters all fidgeted in their seats, some moving cameras his way, as he nonchalantly made his way along the first row.

"You've been having some trouble with one of your cases recently, haven't you, Inspector?" said William.

"A bit, yeah," said Greg with a frown as he stood.

John stepped forward a bit, recognizing something in William's eyes.

William had reached the end of the row and began moving back along the seats. "How fortunate that he should be stupid enough to actually come here, not that anyone knew I would be here, but still…" He slowed as he reached the middle of the audience. "If I were wanted for murder, I wouldn't be caught at a public venue surrounded by so many reporters."

Greg stepped up next to John, his hand slowly moving to his holster.

William suddenly spun back towards the stage. "It's your lucky day, Lestrade. I just found you the Cornwall Strangler." He clapped his hand on the shoulder of the man sitting on the end of the row next to him.

The crowd gasped as the man jumped from his chair, knocking William's hand from his shoulder and using the element of surprise to wrestle William off balance and grab his scarf. As the man tightened the scarf, William clutched at it, trying to gasp in air.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, jumping down from the stage with Greg right behind him.

William pulled at the scarf as it crushed his windpipe, trying to knock the man off, but the strangler had the upper hand. John charged forward, hurtling himself into the man. John and the strangler hit the ground as William collapsed onto all fours, yanking his scarf away from his neck and coughing as he sucked in oxygen.

Greg aimed his gun at the man as John held him down. "You got him?"

"Yeah," said John, holding the man's arms down.

Greg holstered his gun and pulled his handcuffs out, cuffing the man.

John immediately ran over to William. "Sherlock, you okay?"

William coughed as he nodded. "I'm fine."

John leaned in close as he helped him up, whispering. "You're not invincible anymore, remember?"

William coughed. "I remember." He looked up to see Molly hobbling towards him on her crutches, a frantic look on her face. He stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms.

Molly let the crutches fall as she hugged him tight. "I thought—"

"I'm fine," William reassured her. "I promise." He ran a hand through her hair, trying to get her to calm down.

"Mr. Holmes, who's the girl?"

"Are you two dating?"

William pulled back from Molly, registering that the camera flashes were going wild. He smiled down at Molly before looking over at the crowd of reporters. "No comment."

"Why the secrecy?"

"Why hide the truth all these years?"

"Because John deserved some downtime after his years in the war," William answered curtly. "He expressed that desire, and I honored it because I knew it wouldn't be long before he craved the thrill of the chases once again."

Questions began being fired off again, but William raised his voice.

"And if you don't mind, I have experiments that need tending to," said William, fetching the crutches and handing them to Molly.

John watched as William escorted Molly towards the door.

"Mr. Holmes!" many reporters called out to his back.

John glanced at them and back to William. _No, not William, not anymore._

From this moment on, he was now Sherlock Holmes.

John stepped in front of the reporters as Molly and Sherlock headed out of the room. "I think that's enough for today. If you have any further questions, talk to my agent." He gestured to the publisher representative. "Otherwise, you can reach us at 221B Baker Street." He turned and made his way out after his two friends.

Winding his way back through the hall, John entered the back room to find Molly taking a look at Sherlock's throat, which had begun to turn pink.

"See?" said Sherlock, placing his hand over hers. "I'm fine."

"You weren't…" Molly's voice trailed off as her eyes teared up. "The sound of it…"

Sherlock wrapped her in his arms. "I'm sorry."

"Is this what it's going to be like?" asked Molly. "Watching you being almost killed every other case?"

Sherlock hesitated. "I won't lie to you; it will be dangerous."

Molly stifled a sob.

"But I think we can both agree that John will always be there to save my life," Sherlock told her, glancing up at the doctor.

John smiled at him. "Well, I owe you that much."

Molly pulled away and looked at him. "Thank you, John."

The door opened behind him, and John turned to see Mary closing it behind her.

Mary stalked over and gave his arm a whack. "You never told me you were behind the phenomenon that is Sherlock Holmes!"

"Technically, I am," said Sherlock.

Mary put her hands on her hips. "I can tell when you're fibbing, _William_."

"Well, that **is** his name," John told her. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

"I'm not stupid, you know," said Mary. "Something's going on."

John fumbled for his words for a moment before Sherlock came to his rescue.

"I asked John to go along with it," said Sherlock.

John and Molly looked at him in surprise.

"The whole 'starting over with a new identity' thing," said Sherlock nonchalantly, giving Mary a significant look.

Mary's glare dropped as she stared at him.

"I hope you can understand that, Mary," muttered Sherlock slowly.

Mary stared at him another moment before narrowing her eyes as she turned slowly towards John.

John waved his hands defensively in front of him. "I didn't. I swear."

"Not to worry, Mary," Sherlock assured her. "John is very tight-lipped. Except around me."

Mary crossed her arms and cocked her head at John.

"No, no, I—" began John before pointing at Sherlock. "He turned me onto it in the first place."

"Onto what?" asked Molly.

All three of them turned their heads towards her. "Nothing."

Molly crossed her own arms and raised her brows pointedly at Sherlock.

Sherlock began to fidget under her gaze, his eyes darting away from hers. After a moment, he glanced up at her and then over at Mary in anguish, the question in his eyes.

Mary sighed as she rolled her eyes. "Oh, go ahead."

* * *

 **Only one chapter to go! Now, this one may take a couple weeks. It's finals time. But it's on its way!**


	18. Chapter 18

Epilogue

Sherlock took off his latex gloves and turned towards Donovan. "Wrong. It's one _possible_ explanation of _some_ of the facts." He moved around the victim's living room towards Anderson. "You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?" asked Anderson.

"The wound was on the right side of his head," said Sherlock.

"And?" said Anderson.

"Van Coon was left-handed." Sherlock went into an elaborate mime as he demonstrated his point, pretending to try and point a gun to his right temple with his left hand. "Requires quite a bit of contortion."

"Left-handed?"

"Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice," said Sherlock sarcastically. "All you have to do is look around this flat." He pointed to the table beside the sofa. "Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets; habitually used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. Do you want me to go on?"

"No, I think you've covered it," said John tiredly from his spot by the door.

"Oh, I might as well," said Sherlock. "I'm almost at the bottom of the list."

John nodded expectantly.

Sherlock pointed towards the kitchen. "There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left." He turned to Anderson with an impatient look on his face. "It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. _Only_ explanation of _all_ the facts."

"But the gun," said Donovan. "Why—"

"He was waiting for the killer," Sherlock interrupted. "He fired a shot when his attacker came in."

"And the bullet?" asked Donovan.

"Went through the open window," explained Sherlock.

"Oh, come on!" said Anderson. "What are the chances of that?"

"Wait until you get the ballistics report," said Sherlock. "The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from this inside, how did the killer get in?" asked Donovan.

Sherlock nodded condescendingly. "Good! You're finally asking the right questions."

Donovan shook her head in disgust at his attitude.

Sherlock nodded at Greg. "Inspector." He turned towards the door, heading over to toss the examination gloves in the waste bin.

Donovan leaned towards Anderson, muttering loudly enough for the others to hear, namely one consulting detective. "I don't care if he is Sherlock Holmes. He's still a freak."

Sherlock turned back towards them, giving her an amused smile. "Oh, Donovan, you have no idea." He then pulled his deerstalker out of his coat pocket and tugged it on, striding out the flat's door.

John and Greg gave each other a smile before John followed Sherlock into the rest of the building.

John caught up to Sherlock at the head of the stairs. "You know, they probably think you're some kind of psychopath now."

"Who cares?" Sherlock brushed off, trotting down the stairs.

John chuckled as he followed behind, reaching the lobby as Sherlock came to a stop just before the front door. "What is it?"

Sherlock was peering through the small window next to the door. "They found me."

John sighed as he stepped up to the door to have a look. "Well, you did ask for it." He looked at his friend. "Ready?"

"Yes," said Sherlock.

John opened the door, and Sherlock swept out amid a multitude of camera flashes. John stepped out after him, and they pushed through the reporters to the street.

"Taxi!" Sherlock called, raising his hand.

A cab pulled up, and the two of them jumped inside.

"221B Baker Street," John told the cabbie.

The driver smiled in contained excitement at the sight of them. "Yes, sir." And he pulled away from the curb.

John relaxed into his seat. "You would think after almost two years, the press would've died down by now."

Sherlock shrugged as he typed away on his mobile. "Your own fault for making me so popular."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered John with a smile.

Sherlock paused in his typing to glance over at John with a frown. "What day was I helping you move your things out?"

"Friday," John answered.

"Ah, yes, that's right," said Sherlock, his expression clearing as he went back to his phone.

"And don't even think about scheduling some surprise case that day," John quickly told him.

"Wouldn't dream of it," replied Sherlock.

John glanced over at him, hesitating a moment. "Actually, while we're on that…"

Sherlock raised his chin and brows slightly to show he was listening, his eyes not leaving his phone.

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me," John told him.

Sherlock actually paused in his work and looked up at him, smiling. "Lovely! Congratulations, John!" He went back to his phone.

John blinked at his friend a moment, frustrated. "Sherlock, you're not listening to me."

"Yes, I am," Sherlock muttered quickly, punching a few last keys before deactivating the screen and slipping the phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. "You're getting engaged."

"I said I was going to ask her to marry me," John corrected.

"And she will most definitely say yes. Congratulations."

John laughed, shaking his head. "Well, don't tell anyone. I don't want Mary finding out we're engaged before I even ask."

Sherlock grimaced at being told to keep quiet about something. "And when can I break this vow of silence?"

"I'm asking her at dinner Saturday night."

Sherlock nodded. "Sunday. Deal."

The cab pulled up outside 221, and John and Sherlock got out to a thankfully empty doorstep. The reporters still followed them on cases every once in a while, but had abandoned Baker Street a while back. John paid the cabbie, as per usual, while Sherlock unlocked the door and swept inside.

John walked in as Sherlock carefully stuffed the deerstalker into the pocket of his Belstaff. Despite Sherlock's initial complaints that the hat was ridiculous ("It's got ear flaps. It's an ear hat, John!"), he had grown quite attached to it and had quickly begun wearing it while on his cases.

The boys made their way up the stairs towards their flat, Sherlock hanging up his coat and scarf on the back of the door.

"Oh, you're back!" said Mrs. Hudson, looking up from straightening some newspapers next to the sofa. "Solve another one, then?" She attempted to lift the pile of newspapers.

John darted forward immediately, taking them from her. "Please, Mrs. Hudson, let me."

"Oh, thank you, John," said Mrs. Hudson.

"You didn't touch my experiments, did you?" grumbled Sherlock, heading for the kitchen.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head fondly, looking back at John. "What will I do without you?"

"Don't worry," John assured her. "Molly will keep him in line."

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "It'll be so nice having another woman around."

"Brilliant!" Sherlock suddenly cried out from the kitchen.

John and Mrs. Hudson looked over to see Sherlock bent over one of his Petri dishes on the kitchen table, an excited gleam in his eyes and a smile on his face.

"Just the reaction I suspected!" exclaimed Sherlock, moving the Petri dish over towards the microscope. "Oh, it's Christmas!" He began scraping some of the residue from the dish onto a slide.

"So nice indeed…" muttered Mrs. Hudson.

* * *

John sat in his armchair, reading through his book. It was mid-afternoon, and they were expecting Molly from her shift at Bart's any moment. Sherlock was standing facing the window behind his armchair, playing Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" on his violin. It had taken about a month for him to pick it up—mostly due to his many years observing the world, musicians included—and before John knew it, Sherlock was an expert violinist.

"Listen, I was wondering if I might leave my armchair here," John spoke up, his eyes not leaving his book.

"Sure," Sherlock replied, his playing not diminishing in the slightest. "Give you something to come back for."

John abruptly looked up at him, frowning. "Come back for?"

"To," Sherlock immediately corrected himself, turning a little further away from John.

John lowered the book to his lap, reading into his friend's verbal slip. "This isn't going to change anything, you know. Just because I'm leaving Baker Street, it doesn't mean I'm gone."

The violin's notes drifted off as Sherlock slowly lowered the bow to his side.

"Mary knows I'm a package deal," John continued.

Sherlock lowered the violin as he turned towards John, a warm smile on his face.

John chuckled. "Besides, people would have to be mad to split up Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson."

Sherlock's smile widened as he gave a deep chuckle, turning back towards the window. He raised his violin and bow, starting the classical piece up again.

John went back to his book, enjoying the violin music. It had been a bit annoying at first when Sherlock would start up a concert at three in the morning. Over time, he had come to enjoy the music, especially once Sherlock learned which music would soothe him when he awoke from a nightmare. It had reached a point where John couldn't sleep restfully when Sherlock was away from the flat. He had downloaded violin music onto his phone and would play it when he woke in the middle of the night. It was one of Sherlock's quirks that he had grown fond of over the last two years.

John frowned after a while as the music changed, not recognizing the tune. Well, he didn't recognize a lot of the songs Sherlock played, but he tended to play the more popular classical pieces. And this one, John had never heard before. And it was…beautiful. He had never heard anything like it.

John looked up at Sherlock, who was facing out towards the sun as it crept lower in the sky. The brows over his closed eyes were drawn together in deep emotion, as though he were pouring his very soul into the violin. John eased his book closed as the music continued to sing to him. He watched Sherlock as the song continued, crescendoing to an even more emotional climax before tapering off. Sherlock came to a stop at the end, staring into the sunset.

"That was beautiful," John told him.

"Sunrise…" Sherlock muttered, still not lowering the instrument.

"Sorry?" asked John.

Sherlock was silent for a moment as he lowered the bow and violin. "That was the music I used to hear in the sunrise…" He stared forlornly into the sunset, lost in days long gone by.

John set his book on the end table next to him, not sure whether to be concerned about this nostalgic moment of his friend's. "Sherlock…" he paused, not sure how to phrase this so as not to offend him or give him the wrong impression, "if you could go back to…before…"

Sherlock turned towards him with parted lips, taken aback by the question.

"…would you?" asked John.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment before opening his mouth to answer.

"Sherlock!" Molly called from downstairs.

Sherlock's gaze went to the door as a smile instantly lit up his face. "Not for all the halos in the world, John."

John smiled as Sherlock placed his violin and bow in his armchair and headed towards the door.

Molly stepped into the flat, smiling at him. "Hey!"

Sherlock smiled at her. "Hi." He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a kiss.

Molly hummed into the kiss. "I missed you."

"I missed you," said Sherlock. "You don't work tomorrow, do you?"

"It's moving day tomorrow, remember?" Molly reminded him.

"Ah, yes," said Sherlock, pulling her closer and muttering into her ear. "And then we'll have this place all to ourselves."

Molly giggled as his breath tickled her ear and then let out a squeal of laughter when Sherlock began fondling her backside.

"All right, that's enough, you two," John finally spoke up from his chair.

Sherlock turned to look at John, his arm still around Molly. "Now, now, John, you can't keep _all_ the marital bliss to yourselves."

John's eyes widened slightly as he stared accusatorily at him.

Molly, meanwhile, had turned her head to frown at Sherlock. "Marital bliss?"

Sherlock looked at her and then back to John. "It is Sunday, yes?"

"No, it's Thursday," Molly replied, confused by the change in subject.

Sherlock looked over at her.

"Remember, Friday is moving day, which is tomorrow," Molly continued.

Sherlock looked back at John, whose wide-eyed glare had not receded.

"What did you mean, marital bliss?" Molly asked.

Sherlock thought quickly and looked back at Molly. "Oh, come on, you've seen them together. They're like one of those annoying happily married couples." He looked back at John to see the doctor giving him a grateful look.

"Oh, so, marriage is annoying, is it?" asked Molly, her curiosity abated by Sherlock's words.

Sensing a storm brewing, Sherlock quickly backed out of it. "I did not say that. I only meant the _people_ in a married relationship are annoying."

"You mean people in a loving relationship?" said Molly archly, raising her brows as she crossed her arms at him. "Like two people about to move in together?"

Stunned at the rapid turn of events, Sherlock could only gape at her, at a loss for words. "No—I—it's…"

Molly turned on her heel and marched towards Sherlock's bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

A choked laugh sounded through the room, and Sherlock looked down at John to see him with his hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking in laughter.

"This isn't funny, John," Sherlock hissed at him.

John removed his hand. "It is a little bit."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes into a glare and then looked sadly towards the bedroom door.

John cut his laughter off as he stood. "Well, clearly…" he cleared his throat as he chuckled again, "you still have much to learn about women." He clapped a hand onto Sherlock's shoulder.

"Clearly," muttered Sherlock. He looked over at John. "What do I do?"

John removed his hand, raising them both and backing away. "Oh, no! You got yourself into this mess."

"Trying to help you," Sherlock pointed out.

"Nope, sorry." John sat back down in his armchair, picking his book up. "You're on your own on this one."

Sherlock sighed and then looked towards the door, trying to think his way through it. _No, no, your brain is what got you into trouble. Use your heart._

With some slight difficulty, Sherlock was able to stop his mind thinking and trying to solve the problem and simply let himself feel. He stepped through the kitchen and down the hall, approaching the closed door. Instinct stopped him as he was about to open the door, and instead, he knocked softly on it.

"Molly?" Sherlock called quietly.

There was no response.

"Molly, may I come in?" he pleaded.

There was a pause before a stiff voice responded, "I suppose."

Sherlock slid the door open a little, finding Molly sitting on the edge of his bed, arms crossed as she stared at the floor. He stepped into the room, easing the door closed behind him. He stayed by the door a moment longer before something in him told him to move. He slowly headed for the bed, sitting down next to Molly.

"Molly…" Sherlock began.

"You know how I feel about this," Molly interrupted hotly. "My history with boyfriends—If you got bored with me—"

Sherlock immediately placed his hand on the side of her face, turning it towards him. "Hey. You could never bore me. I gave up eternity for you."

Tears fell down Molly's face as she clasped onto his hand.

"I love you," Sherlock told her. "I love you more than immortality, more than the music in the sunrise, more than flight, more than—"

Molly pushed forward and kissed him, wrapping her arms around him. Sherlock's hand reached into her hair, pulling her closer. The kiss grew from frantic to tender before Molly buried her face in Sherlock's chest, holding onto him.

"Would it please you to know that I have often imagined what our wedding would be like?" said Sherlock.

Molly looked up at him with a shocked look.

"Don't get me wrong," Sherlock quickly told her. "I'm not ready for that—I don't think either of us are…but I do think about it."

Molly stared at him in shock.

Sherlock blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this." His eyes brightened. "Maybe I should get you a cup of tea." He began to get to his feet.

Molly stopped him with a laugh. "You did it just fine. I feel one hundred percent better."

Sherlock smiled as he brushed a hand over her cheek. "Tell you what, how about we go somewhere for dinner?"

Molly smiled. "Really?"

"Yes. After all, it is our anniversary."

Molly frowned. "It is?"

"Two years ago on this day, we first met," Sherlock told her.

Molly's frown fell as her eyes lit up and an amused smile appeared. "You…you remember?"

"Of course I remember," Sherlock assured her. "It was the day that changed my life."

Molly's smile grew, and she gave him a kiss. "So…" she leaned into Sherlock's chest as he put his arm around her, "what else have you imagined about us?"

"Well…" began Sherlock, wrapping his other arm around her, "of course, we have a charming little house in the country with three children and the family dog, whom we have named Hamish, much to John's displeasure."

Molly laughed, the sound rumbling through Sherlock's chest.

"But they are three of the most beautiful children I have ever seen," said Sherlock.

Molly looked up at him, adoration shining in her eyes.

A knock came at the door. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked towards the door. "You can come in."

John opened the door and stuck his head in. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have a client."

Sherlock looked down at Molly, who had deflated a little and looked away. He placed his hands on her shoulders, making sure he had her attention. "I am not canceling dinner. I will hear them out and will only investigate if it is a matter of life and death. Based on John's casual behavior, highly unlikely. Go on home to get ready. I'll pick you up at seven."

Molly smiled. "You would put off a case for me? That's so sweet."

John snorted. "Sherlock, sweet. Yeah." He turned and moved back into the living room.

Sherlock kissed Molly and then stood, trading his dressing gown for his suit jacket. "Well…" he buttoned the jacket, striding towards the door, "let's get this over with." He strode into the hallway and through the kitchen, Molly following.

The two of them emerged into the living room, finding a man sitting in a chair across from the fireplace.

Sherlock's eyes traveled over the man for a moment. "Oh, no, this shouldn't take long at all." He turned to Molly. "I'll see you tonight." He gave her a kiss.

"Have fun," Molly told him, turning and leaving.

Sherlock turned towards the client, looking at John in his armchair before turning to his own chair and sitting. John balanced a notebook on his knee, setting a pen to it.

"So…" began Sherlock, placing his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepling his fingers together under his chin, "start from the beginning."

THE END

* * *

 **Well, here we are. The final chapter. I will miss you all! But not for long, because I have chosen which of my ideas I want to write next. Hint: Sherlock and Star Trek!**


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